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ari-ana-bel-la · 2 days ago

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Can you please do a George having a daughter the same age as Kimi, and he finds out there dating, and freaking out?

The boyfriend/teammate

"I can't believe he thinks he's faster than me through Sector 2," Kimi scoffed, tossing a protein bar toward Yn, who caught it effortlessly.

They were sitting on a low wall just behind the hospitality area, the warm hum of the paddock swirling around them. Mechanics rushed by, PR people clicked down the walkways in sharp heels, and the ever-present sound of tires being rolled echoed nearby.

"You are faster," Yn said with a smirk, unwrapping the bar. "But he's not wrong about your starts. Those are a disaster."

"Okay, rude," Kimi mock-pouted. "I'm trying my best."

"Your best almost ended up in the pit wall in Bahrain."

Kimi blinked at her. "That was one time."

Yn arched an eyebrow. "Two."

"Okay, fine. Twice. But we’re not talking about that anymore. We’re talking about how awesome I am in Sector 2."

"Your ego needs its own garage space."

Kimi grinned, leaning back on his hands. "You love it."

Yn flushed, just barely, the warmth rising in her cheeks not from the sun.

She did. God help her, she really did.

Yn had grown up in the paddock. Her earliest memories included race day adrenaline, the scent of burning rubber, and her dad’s voice on the radio. By the time she was twelve, she could tell the difference between tire compounds just by looking. By fourteen, she was helping her dad review telemetry.

And now at eighteen, she had the run of the paddock like it was her second home.

Which was great.

Except for the part where her dad’s new teammate was annoyingly charming and exactly her type.

Kimi was just a few months older. He was confident, a little too pretty for his own good, and had a laugh that made her stomach flutter.

It had started slow. A shared joke here. A walk back from the media pen. Watching data together. And then... more.

Now, they snuck hand squeezes behind hospitality tents, exchanged texts all through the night, and once, memorably, made out in the motorhome when the team was at a strategy meeting.

But they'd kept it quiet.

Until now.

"You what?!"

George stood in the team’s motorhome, eyes wide, voice somewhere between a shout and a squeak.

Yn winced. "Dad, calm down."

"I am calm!" George said, clearly not calm. "You’re dating him?"

Kimi, ever unbothered, lifted his hand in a little wave. "Hi."

"Don’t 'hi' me! I trusted you! I mentored you! I— I— I taught you how to heel-and-toe!"

"That was very helpful, thank you," Kimi said earnestly.

George flailed. "Kimi!"

"Dad," Yn said, stepping between them, voice steady. "It’s not like we planned it. We just... started spending time together. You know how often I'm around."

"Yes, and I trusted him!"

"I’m still me," Kimi offered. "Just with your daughter’s number now."

"Not helping!"

"Sorry."

George paced a few steps, hands on his hips, then turned to his daughter.

"Yn. You’re my little girl."

"I’m eighteen."

"My baby girl."

Yn groaned. "You let me drive a car at Silverstone at fifteen."

"Exactly! Because I trust you! But this—this is different."

"Why? Because it’s Kimi?"

"Yes! No! I mean—he’s my teammate!"

Kimi raised a finger. "I’ll never crash into him on purpose."

George stopped pacing. "On purpose?"

"I mean—I wouldn’t crash at all. Sorry. That came out wrong."

George sighed dramatically and sank onto the couch.

"This is going to be a disaster."

"Or not," Yn said softly. "Dad... we care about each other. A lot."

George looked up at her, then over at Kimi, who looked surprisingly earnest. He’d taken his cap off, ruffling his hair like he always did when nervous.

"I’ll take care of her," Kimi said. "Promise."

There was a long pause.

George sighed again. "I need coffee."

The next day, the entire paddock knew.

Not because they told anyone.

Because George told everyone.

"Did you know my daughter is dating Kimi?" he said to a stunned Toto at the morning briefing.

Toto blinked. "...Congratulations?"

"Thanks. I think. Maybe. I don’t know!"

When Max wandered into the lounge later, George cornered him.

"She’s seeing Kimi."

"...And you’re telling me this why?"

"Because you’ve known him for years! Should I be worried?"

Max blinked. "About what? That he’s gonna crash her into a wall of roses? He’s the most boringly respectful guy I’ve ever met."

George frowned. "That's what worries me. No one is that respectful."

Later that afternoon, Kimi was cornered by a swarm of drivers in the cool down room.

"You’re dating George’s daughter?" Lando asked, grinning wide.

"Please tell me you told George in the car."

"No, it was in the motorhome," Kimi muttered.

"Coward," Pierre said, flopping onto a beanbag. "I would’ve done it in the garage. With the radio on."

Oscar leaned over. "Are you scared of him?"

"Terrified," Kimi admitted. "He keeps looking at me like he’s imagining pit stop sabotage."

George, for his part, was trying to be supportive.

He just... had moments.

Like when he stood outside the motorhome while Kimi and Yn were inside, dramatically clearing his throat every five minutes.

Or when he "accidentally" sat between them at dinner.

Or when he started casually asking Kimi about his intentions. Every day. In public.

"So, Kimi," George said, strolling up with a totally fake smile, "where do you see yourself in five years?"

Kimi blinked. "...Still racing, maybe. Traveling. With Yn, hopefully."

George narrowed his eyes. "Mm-hm."

"You asked," Kimi said defensively.

"Just making sure we’re on the same page."

Yn rolled her eyes so hard she almost tipped over.

But slowly, things softened.

George saw how Kimi waited for Yn outside of interviews. How he held her hand protectively in crowded media zones. How he watched her with the same tenderness George remembered in Carmen’s eyes when Yn was born.

One evening, George found them sitting under a canopy of stars behind the paddock, Kimi’s jacket wrapped around Yn’s shoulders, her head on his shoulder.

George didn’t interrupt.

Just watched for a moment.

Then smiled.

The race that weekend was a blur of chaos—rain, safety cars, unexpected pit stops. Kimi managed a podium. George finished just behind.

As they stepped off the podium, champagne-soaked and exhausted, George nudged Kimi.

"Nice drive."

Kimi turned, blinking. "Thanks. You too."

George gave him a long look.

Then smirked.

"Hurt her and I’ll replace your steering wheel with a baguette."

Kimi grinned. "Noted."

"Good. Now go kiss your girlfriend before the photographers find her."

And with that, George walked off, already planning to call Carmen and tell her everything.

Kimi ran straight to Yn, swept her up in a hug, spinning her slightly before pressing a kiss to her lips. She laughed into it, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"He smiled," Kimi whispered.

"My dad?"

"He didn’t even flinch."

"Wow. Progress."

"Do you think he likes me now?"

Yn grinned. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

Back in the motorhome that night, George flopped onto the couch beside Carmen.

"She’s in love."

Carmen looked up from her book. "We knew that."

"With Kimi."

She smiled. "I know."

George groaned. "I’m not ready."

Carmen kissed his cheek. "You don’t have to be. You just have to be there."

He sighed. "Do you think I can still scare him a little? Just to keep him on his toes?"

Carmen smirked. "Oh, absolutely. That’s a father’s job."

George nodded. "Good. Tomorrow I’m sending him a list of dating rules."

Carmen raised an eyebrow. "Color-coded?"

"Laminated."

She laughed, leaning into him.

And in the next room, Yn and Kimi lay curled on the couch, watching old race replays, fingers entwined, hearts full.

Love, it seemed, had found its place on the grid.

Even if it had to dodge a few protective elbows along the way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

Also, please ignore that the ages of the people don't really make sense. Thank you!

Another also, thank you to 🐴Anon for your kind words (OMG, I have an anon (can I even say that?)).

To answer some questions, yes I can speak German because I'm from Austria. About writing Part 2's for some stories, I'll have to think about that.

Thank you for all your kind words and support!

Special shoutout to @heyitspapayaontop for defending me with their life. Now that's what I call a real girls girl

-🤍🦢

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abbotsanatomy · 2 days ago

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hello!! i love ur writing you’re feeding my abbot addiction <33 could you write a fic with a depressed reader, maybe she had a hard case that hit close to home that ended badly and is really lingering for her, and jack noticed because she’s been more withdrawn and distant for the past few days and he tries to get her to talk about it and she says shes fine then blah blah fast forward shes on yhe roof crying after working a double :) sorry im a fiend for hurt comfort

⨳ PROTECTING THE HIVE

pairing: jack abbot x chief resident!reader warnings: (20-ish year) age gap, resident/attending relationship, workplace romance, depictions of depression, mentions of suicidal ideation, kinda medical malpractice (lol), panic attack, allusions to child abuse. author's note: i had no idea what to name this, so here's my attempt at being funny... (also keep the compliments coming, they're feeding my ego <33 mwah)

You used to love your bed. It used to be a huge source of comfort. And sleep. Sleep is a special commodity when you work night shifts at a trauma center.

Now, you hate it. Because whenever you aren't working, you're just lying there. Not even asleep, just staring at the ceiling. Half of the time, you want to get up and be with your hot, older boyfriend.

The other half of the time, your mind is just pulling out the most horrendous memories possible, making you relive them, and wish you were dead. There's a bottle of pills on your nightstand you know would do the trick. You won't let yourself.

People rely on you. Jack relies on you. You save lives every day; you just wish you didn't have to lose so many along the way.

The only place you can escape your own thoughts is the ER. So, you throw yourself into your work. You work twice as hard, for twice as long.

Of course, Jack notices. He can see the most imperceptible changes in your demeanor, so this major shift doesn't exactly fly under his radar.

Be that as it may, you won't tell him any of it. He's a natural worrier. He hovers and he worries. That's just who he is. You're doing him a huge favor, really.

Besides, out of all the things your coping mechanism could be, it's saving lives. Who wouldn't support that?

So, you work yourself to the bone guilt-free. You take on double shifts with a few extra hours sprinkled on top. It's more than tiring, but it also means that when you get home and you're in bed, you pass out. You don't lay there for hours thinking about the kid who died in your ER two weeks ago.

You're careful about it, too. You change your scrubs and chug a cup of that terrible break room coffee before Jack comes in for the night shift.

Tonight's another one of those long, grueling, self-inflicted shifts. You've got a Red Bull in one hand, and a patient's bloodwork in the other. You've assessed labs like this one a million times, but the numbers aren't making any sense right now. Parker passes by you with a quick tap on your shoulder to bring your attention to her.

“Hey, you want me to count you in for the rock climbing thing this Sunday?” she asks, opening up one of the ER computers, “It was fun last time, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say slowly.

You're not too sure you can come up with a viable excuse right now, so you'll just have to cancel later. It was really fun, it just sounds like too much effort right now.

She walks away with a nod, when one of the nurses calls for her. When you start feeling surrounded in the middle of the ER hallway, you make your way to the break room. It feels even more stuffy, somehow.

You grip the papers in your hands tighter. The throbbing in your head that hasn't really left for the past two weeks has become unbearable now.

Noises are too loud. Everyone's too close. You need to get out, now.

Everything in your hand gets abandoned on the break room counter. You make your way as swiftly as possible past the patient’s rooms. A hand gently grips your arm, before you can pull the emergency exit open.

“Are you alright?”

Jack's low cadence coupled with his steady touch on your arm make you want to burst out into tears right then and there.

“I'm fine. I just—” your voice cracks.

“I need a minute,” you tell him, willing your voice to be as firm as you can manage. You can't even pull your gaze up from the floor. It isn't clear if he's buying it or not.

He lets go of your arm, and you can finally run up the hospital's stairs to the rooftop. You're completely out of breath, and still wildly overstimulated by the time you get there.

You pull the roof's metal door open. The moment the cold December air hits your face, it calms your panic down. But it brings with it a wave of sadness that can't be quelled or distracted away. You let yourself feel it.

You're out of control, now. Hands shaking, limbs completely wracked by these huge, full-body sobs. You steady yourself with your arms on one of the roof's AC units, when the memories start flooding your mind.

The kid you killed, he'd come in a week before. He had bruises all over, cuts where he wasn't supposed to. You passed the information onto someone on the day shift, so they can tell the department social worker. The next day you came back, he was gone.

A week later, he was dying in your arms. His blood literally staining your hands is a memory you'll never be able to erase. You spiral, his first and last visit to the ER flashing in your mind with equal consequence.

The footsteps growing closer barely register to your ears over your wailing. The moment Jack pulls you close, a hand on your jaw to bring your eyes to his, you instinctively pull away. He's insistent, though. He was trying to give you space, but look where that's gotten you.

“Hey, hey,” he says firmly, to grab your attention.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. He quickly realizes he can't get you to understand anything he says, not right now. So he does the next best thing.

He holds you. Really tight. So tight you can only smell his cologne and that sterile hospital scent that lingers on him for hours after a shift. It reminds you of home. You see him almost every day, but you miss him. He somehow always knows exactly what you need.

It takes a good ten minutes for you to stop crying in his arms. He's happy to be there, just glad you're slowly calming down. When your breathing evens out, and your eyes have dried out, you look up at him.

Where you think there should be disappointment, maybe even hatred, there's only admiration. If you’d actually picked up a scalpel and killed someone, he wouldn't even flinch, you think.

His gaze alone is making this a lot easier, “Better?”

You nod. Your eyes feel heavy, like you might just sleep here in his arms.

“It's the oxytocin,” he jokes.

“Yeah. I know,” you chuckle.

His scrub top looks incredibly comfortable. For the first time in weeks, you wish you were just in bed. You could lay on his chest and have the best sleep you've had in too many nights to count. The best you can get right now is resting your forehead on the black fabric. That's exactly what you do.

Jack lets a few seconds go back before speaking up.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I...” you take a deep breath.

I killed him. The words die on your tongue. You can't say them.

Jack must notice this is causing you distress, so he runs his fingers through your hair. He kisses the top of your head to calm you down.

“We don't have to, right now,” he whispers, “Not ever, even. But you do need to talk about it to someone.”

You nod in agreement, against his shirt. Your coping mechanisms are so not working.

“When was the last time you ate?”

You blank, “I don't...I don't know.”

“Sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Alright. You're done.”

He pulls your head up with a hand on each cheek, “Clock out. Go home. Have some food, and I'll be there in a few hours.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You both walk to the emergency exit. In the stairwell, you turn to him, your eyes still glistening.

“Hey, um. I'm not fine, Jack,” you admit.

“I know that,” he tells you. “But you will be. I'll make sure of it.”

You believe him.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbott fanfic #dr jack abbott x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot drabble #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot fluff #the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #the pitt 2025 #the pitt show #the pitt x reader

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pitlanepeach · 1 day ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Five

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, detailed meltdown on-page, angst.

Notes — Another double update, go me! PSA: Our Amelia has a bit of a difficult time in this one. Take care of yourselves x

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

WhatsApp Groupchat — The 2019 F1 Grid

Charles L. I have found an iPad in Ferrari hospitality. It is engraved with the initials A.B. Any ideas?

Lewis H. Does it have a bunny sticker on it?

Charles L. Yes!

Lewis H. That’s Amelia’s, then.

Lando N. lol I’ll come get it just gimme 10 mins im in a debrief rn

Charles L. Sure no problem Amelia is Zak Brown’s daughter, yes?

George R. Yeah mate The smart one.

Sebastian V. Haha. She is the one Binotto wants? Brown hair, pretty smile?

Lando N. Bro.

Lewis H. @Sebastian — Mattia has tried to get her to Ferrari?

Sebastian V. Yes. He’s offered her some very lucrative opportunities. She has so far turned all of them down.

Carlos S. She’s loyal to McLaren. Leave her to us, yes?

Valtteri B. But if she ever decided to go elsewhere, Mercedes would make sense.

Lewis H. Yeah obviously 👍🏻

Lando N. ????????????

Lance S. If she was offered a million dollars to fix the Racing Point car, do you think she’d take it? Not a hypothetical. My dad wants to know.

Max V. Money won’t work. You forget she’s already the child of a millionaire.

Lance S. Damn it.

Kimi R. Is this the child always in Norris’ garage?

Lando N. Don’t call her a child we are literally the same age

Kimi R. That does not change the fact

Daniel R. But seriously, why was she even in Ferrari hospitality in the first place?

Max V. Ice cream.

Lando N. Ice cream

Lewis H. Ice cream.

Sebastian V. I can confirm she was here for ice cream. Pistachio, specifically.

Charles L. I cannot believe I’ve still never met her. Is she really so smart?

Lando N. Yes.

Pierre G. Absolutely.

Max V. Smarter than you are capable of comprehending, Charles.

Charles L. Then I suppose I will just have to charm her into accepting Mattia’s offer 😌

Lando N. I will put in the wall, Leclerc.

Charles L. Oh! You are together with her, Lando? I didn’t know!

Lando N. No, we’re not together.

Charles L. Then I am confused.

Max V. Her father has practically forbade them from dating. Total nonsense if you ask me.

Carlos S. They are dating.

Daniel R. @Carlos 😳😳😳

Lando N. @Carlos NO WE ARE NOT STOP SAYING THAT

Sergio P. Mucho defensive…

Carlos S. He wrote his race number on her shoes.

Lando N. So what? That means nothing.

Daniel R. Oh brother….

Max V. Yeah, sorry, I can’t even back you on that one Lando. That’s a lot.

Kimi R. My wife had my number stitched into her shoes. We got married six months later.

George R. So Kimi is saying you’re basically engaged, bro.

Lewis H. Let’s stop talking about this. Before Lando has a full on meltdown.

Charles L. Too late. He has arrived for the iPad with a terrible attitude.

Lando N. I hate all of you.

—

Subject: Workplace Conduct Reminder – Inclusivity & Respect at McLaren

From: HR Department To: All McLaren Racing Staff Date: [Sunday, post-race, 10:42 PM]

Dear Team,

As the season continues and tensions rise both on and off the track, we’d like to take a moment to remind everyone of McLaren’s core values — collaboration, respect, and inclusion.

We are incredibly proud of the diversity across our team, from engineering to strategy, operations to communications. Every person is here because they bring something exceptional to the table — and that includes our colleagues who may experience or perceive the world differently than others.

We ask that all team members remain mindful of the following:

Neurodiversity is not a barrier — it is an asset. Please be conscious of language and behaviour that may unintentionally alienate or diminish the contributions of individuals who may process things differently. This includes members of our extended team, trusted advisors, and collaborators who work closely with us — regardless of job title or official role.

“Vibes” are not a metric — Judging someone’s energy, personality, or communication style is not only unprofessional but also unfair. Everyone representing or contributing to McLaren, formally or informally, deserves respect.

Support one another — Whether someone wears McLaren orange full-time or contributes behind the scenes, everyone here plays a part in our collective success.

Rumours are not culture — Let’s keep paddock gossip out of professional spaces. If you have concerns, we encourage you to speak directly to your manager or HR.

This message is not in response to any one incident but rather a gentle pit stop reminder: our team functions best when everyone feels seen, heard, and safe.

If you have any questions or want to speak to someone in confidence, please feel free to reach out to HR directly. We’re here to help.

Kind regards, The McLaren Racing HR Team [[email protected]]

—

iMessage — 11:40pm

Lando Yo, did you see the email?

Carlos Sí.

Lando Kinda hardcore. Glad Zak did something

Carlos Somebody said something to Amelia?

Lando Yeah someone in PR idk I feel like I should know more about her stuff I feel stupid tho. Like I don’t know anything. Just that she’s Amelia yano

Carlos I did some reading. Come to my hotel room. We eat pizza. I will teach you what I know and we can google the rest.

Lando Legend. Thanks, mate.

—

The course he took her to wasn’t flashy — quiet, tucked away, the kind of place her dad’s friends would never be caught dead in. That was intentional. They weren’t exactly hiding their… friendship, but they weren’t trying to advertise it either.

Amelia stared down at the club he’d handed her like it was a piece of martian debris.

“This is very stupid,” she muttered. “Pointless, really.”

“It is,” Lando agreed, his lips twitching. “Just hit the ball.”

She squinted at the tiny white ball he’d settled on the grass in front of her. “Is it supposed to just… go?”

“Yes.”

“Like in a line?” she clarified, glancing at him.

He shrugged. “In theory.”

She swung. Missed.

Lando clapped anyway. “Incredible form. I’ve never seen such calculated failure.”

“It was bad,” she said seriously. “I didn’t hit the ball. I made a hole in the grass, Lando.” She stared down at the muddy crater with quiet horror.

He just gave her an encouraging nod, gesturing for her to try again.

She sighed, feeling the beginning of a stress rash creep along her neck. But she tried again. And that time, she hit it — not far, just a lazy roll across the grass — but enough to surprise herself. Lando caught the way her eyes widened, saw the exact moment the thrill overtook her frustration.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed her another ball.

They kept going like that for a while — her slowly getting the hang of it, him slipping in dumb jokes and patient explanations between swings. She never asked for help, but he noticed how closely she watched every move he made. Her eyes, always sharp, always calculating.

Eventually, she dropped to the grass with a dramatic sigh and said, “Why do people think this is relaxing? I’m hot and my legs are tired.”

Lando chuckled and sat beside her, kicking his legs out long. “I think it’s relaxing. Your dad likes it.”

“I don’t want to talk about my dad. It makes me stressed.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

She pulled at a blade of grass, rolled it between her fingers. “He told me again that it would be better if I stayed away from you. He said it would make things easier. For me. For you. For the team.” She continued.

Lando let the silence sit for a moment before asking, his voice quiet and slightly unsure. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I want him to not worry. I want him to trust me. I want…” She hesitated, frowning at the grass. “I want to feel like I can make my own choices without feeling like I might wreck everything.”

“You’re not wrecking anything,” Lando said. He tapped the ground next to her leg and she glanced at him, blinking. “I like hanging out with you.” He told her.

She didn’t say anything, just flicked the blade of grass from her fingers and looked at the trees that surrounded the course. “I don’t know what I feel yet,” she said finally. “Toward you, I mean. But I know that I have liked this. Today. Not the golf. Being with you.”

Lando grinned — couldn’t help himself. Probably looked like a right knob, but he didn’t care. “Want to keep playing?” He asked.

She gave him a look. “I might get fined for ruining so much of their grass.”

He handed her another ball. Shrugged. Smirked. “It’s fine. I make a lot of money.”

She rolled her eyes.

—

Amelia shut her bedroom door with more force than she meant to and leaned against it, breath caught high in her chest like she’d just ran a marathon. Her bag hit the floor. Her hands were shaking.

She didn’t know why. Except; she did.

Her body was full of something too big. Too much. A knot of heat and noise and confusion that had no exit. It felt like all the inside parts of her were pressing outward, like she might split open if she didn't stay still.

She pressed her palms hard into her eyes like she could push it all back in. But it was already too late. The thoughts were everywhere; spilled oil, tangled cords, static static static. Her brain wouldn’t quiet down. Wouldn’t give her space to think.

She’d had a good day. That was the worst part.

Lando had been good.

He never looked at her like she was difficult. He didn’t act like she was hard work. When she didn’t catch onto something the first time, he just explained again. No sighing. No staring. No pretending. Things weren’t easy with him, not exactly, but they were lighter. Easier.

She sat hard on her bed and the tears came without warning; fast, silent, relentless.

She didn’t cry often. Usually she just shut down. Usually the wall slammed down before anything could spill out. But this time everything had slipped past it, and now she was sobbing, but it didn’t even feel like crying. It felt like her whole nervous system had shattered.

A knock at the door.

“Amelia?” her mum’s voice, soft. “We just got back. Can I come in?”

She didn’t answer. Just turned her face away and wiped at it, even though the tears kept falling. Her skin was already stinging. Her chest was tight.

The door creaked open.

“I’m not upset,” Amelia said fast, panicked. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why I feel like this. No. I do. I do. I just don’t know what to do with it. And I don’t want to talk about it—except I do. I do, I just—” She broke off, swallowing hard.

Her mum sat on the edge of the bed, calm. Grounding.

“I went out with Lando today,” Amelia said, too fast. “To play golf. His idea. He said we should do something fun. So I did. And it was fun. I didn’t freak out or embarrass myself. I didn’t ruin it. I didn’t ruin it.”

She dug her nails into her palms. Her face was blotchy and sore.

“He makes me feel normal,” she whispered. “Not small. Not like a problem. Just… me. And now I don’t know what I feel. I think I want him to be my friend. Or maybe something else. I don’t know. And I don’t want to know, because it doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Her mum asked calmly.

Amelia blinked at her, and then, like someone flicked a switch, the anger surged. Hot and fast, like a fever.

“Because of Dad,” she spat. “Because he thinks that it would be a distraction. Because he thinks I’ll screw everything up just by being around. Like I’m some walking disease that’s gonna infect Lando’s entire career. I know that’s what he’s worried about the most.”

She was breathing too fast. Her limbs were twitching now, hands clenching and unclenching.

“I don’t have friends,” she said. “You know that. I’ve never had friends. Not ones that stay. I get too intense. Too blunt. Too weird. Too tired. And people always stop trying.”Her voice cracked. Her throat burned. “But Lando didn’t stop. He hasn’t stopped. And it’s still not enough. I still don’t get to have this one good thing without it turning into a problem.”

The sobs came back, messy and loud this time. She stood up too fast, swaying. Her hands started moving uncontrollably at her sides; jerky, uncoordinated. A warning sign. The meltdown was building and she couldn’t stop it, could never stop it.

Her mum stood too, moving slow, blocking her path without touching her.

“Okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to think about any of that right now.” Her mom’s attempts to comfort her were useless against the onslaught of emotions she was feeling.

“I’m so angry,” Amelia choked out. “I finally feel calm, I finally feel seen, and it’s not allowed. I’m not allowed to want something or feel something if it’s inconvenient for anyone else!”

She was trembling now. Her skin felt wrong. Her body wasn’t hers anymore. She wanted to rip it off. She wanted to scream and break things. Instead, she clenched her fists and shook and shook and shook.

“Do you want me to get your things?” her mum asked, voice calm, anchoring.

Amelia nodded hard. “Yes. My weighted blanket. And the golf ball. It’s in my bag. Lando bought it for me and I want to hold it. It’s yellow.”

“I’ll get everything,” her mum said gently.

“I’m not doing this on purpose,” Amelia shouted, the volume jarring even to herself. “I’m trying so hard. All the time. I’m always trying.”

“I know,” her mum said. “And I’m proud of you. Every day.”

Amelia slid to the floor. Her body folded in on itself, hands clawed into her sleeves, breathing uneven.

The noise in her head kept rising.

Usually, this was when she wanted her dad. Wanted him to sit next to her. Watch a race in silence. Be there without asking anything of her.

But not now.

Now, all she wanted was for him to stay far, far away.

—

It was almost midnight.

Her room was quiet now; weighted blanket pulled up to her chest, lights off, only the soft blue glow of her phone screen lighting her face. The golf ball sat in her right hand, warm from where she’d been holding it for hours. She kept rolling it between her fingers, feeling the small ridges, the smoothness. Grounding.

She had stopped shaking, but her body was aching like one big bruised muscle.

She stared at the message thread with Lando, her thumb hovering, retreating, hovering again.

She didn’t know what to say.

Everything in her head still felt too big. Too messy. But the quiet between them was worse. Not bad, not uncomfortable, just... unfamiliar. She wanted to talk to him.

Finally, she started typing.

—

iMessage — 10:11pm

Amelia I didn’t enjoy golf very much. But I liked being with you. Thank you for inviting me.

Lando Norris I’m glad you came anyway We had fun though, right? I had fun :)

Amelia Yes, I had fun. It was confusing. But in a good way. I liked learning something new.

Lando Norris I liked today too You were kind of great We should do more new things together. Just us

Amelia Maybe. I feel strange tonight. My head is a bit loud.

Lando Norris That’s alright

Amelia Do you think if I asked you questions about your Formula Three races… you would answer them?

Lando Norris Absolutely I’d love that Haven’t talked about F3 in ages Might be nice to remember

Amelia Okay. What did it feel like the first time you won?

Lando Norris Like my hands knew before I did Like the whole world stopped for one second so I could catch up It felt… right. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be ya know

Amelia Oh

Lando Norris: You okay?

Amelia: I forgot all the questions I had for you. Sorry.

Lando Norris That’s okay. Don’t worry. Your brain’s probably sleepy. It’s late Are you tired?

Amelia Yes. I got upset earlier for no reason and it’s made me tired I’ll go to sleep now. Thank you for texting me back. Goodnight.

Lando Norris You don’t have to thank me for that I like talking to you Feel better soon, yeah? Goodnight x

—

The house was still, the kind of stillness that only came after a storm.

Tracy sat on the couch in the dark, legs curled beneath her, a half-cold mug of tea resting in her hands. She hadn’t moved since she’d come downstairs after leaving Amelia. The couch blanket was draped over her shoulders, but she still shivered slightly, not from the cold, but from the heavy weight of witnessing her daughter’s pain.

Zak entered quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood in the doorway, tie loose, shoulders slumped, guilt etched deep into the lines around his eyes. After a long moment, he crossed the room and sat down beside her.

Tracy didn’t look at him. Just murmured, “She’s asleep now. I checked a minute ago.”

Zak nodded slowly. “She didn’t ask for me.”

“She didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t want help. Just needed space.” Tracy’s voice cracked, but she kept it steady. “She was barely holding on, Zak. I haven’t seen her like that in a long time.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse,” he said too quickly. “I just… I thought I was protecting her.”

“I know you did,” Tracy replied gently.

Zak stared at the floor. “I didn’t think it would hurt her like this. I thought—” He faltered. “I thought keeping her away from Lando would keep things simple. Keep her safe. From getting hurt. Or confused. Or from people talking. From getting her hopes up.”

“You didn’t trust her,” Tracy said. Not accusing, just honest.

Zak exhaled hard. “No. I didn’t trust him.”

Tracy finally turned to look at him. “But he’s been good to her. You’ve seen that, surely.”

“I have,” Zak admitted, tersely.

“But it wasn’t on your terms,” Tracy said. “So you didn’t like it.”

Zak didn’t argue.

“She’s not a problem to solve, Zak. She’s our daughter. And she’s doing something incredibly brave. She’s opening up. She’s connecting. That’s huge for her.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “God, I know. I just…” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair. “Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been someone safer?”

“Because love isn’t safe,” Tracy said. “And friendship isn’t simple. And if you’re lucky enough to find someone who makes you feel okay in your skin, even just for a little while, that’s not a risk for someone like her. That’s a lifeline.”

Zak leaned back, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked hollowed out. “I feel like I’ve completely blown it.”

“You haven’t,” Tracy said gently. “But you will if you keep pushing like this. If you keep trying to prevent something that is starting to seem pretty much inevitable.”

Zak was quiet.

“She loves you,” Tracy added. “But she can’t keep fighting you on this. Not when she’s also fighting herself. That kind of pressure… it’ll break her.”

That landed like a stone. He blinked against the sting in his eyes and nodded, slow and tired. “Okay,” he whispered. “Yeah. Okay. Fine.”

Tracy leaned into him and kissed the rough edge of his jaw. “You’re a good father, Zak. She knows that. She’ll forgive you.”

Zak didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the dark hallway.

“She didn’t ask for me,” he said again, softer this time. Raw. Frayed.

Tracy sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “I know, honey.”

—

The flat was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional thump of bass through the wall from the upstairs neighbours. Lando sat cross-legged on the sofa, eyes unfocused on the muted Rally Car stream playing on the TV. Max was in the kitchen, one sock on, microwaving some disastrous smelling leftover curry.

“You ever liked someone,” Lando said suddenly, not looking up, “so much that even the idea of them ruining your life doesn’t sound that bad?”

Max made a noise that landed somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Christ, mate. What brought that on?”

Lando shrugged. “Dunno. I’ve just been thinking.”

“About Amelia?” Max asked, already knowing. He padded over and dropped into the armchair opposite, bowl in his lap.

Lando exhaled slowly. “I really fucking like her. It doesn’t make sense. She’s, I mean— Jesus, I don’t know. Feels like I can breathe right around her, you know?”

Max didn’t answer right away. Just stirred the curry and watched the screen for a second. Then, gently: “Yeah. I get that. But... Come on, mate. You sure this isn’t a bit too much, too fast?”

Lando looked over. Frowned. “What do you mean?”

Max shifted, trying to find words. “It’s not just about liking someone. It’s about who she is. Like, she’s your boss’s daughter. That’s... not insignificant here.”

“I know that.” Lando bit back.

“Okay. But do you really know what it means? If something goes wrong, if it ends, and ends messy, it’s not like you can just walk away. There’s no possibility of a clean break with her.”

Lando was quiet, but his jaw tightened.

“I’m not trying to scare you off,” Max added quickly. “I just... I know how much you’ve worked for this. Since you were, what, six? Your whole life’s been about driving. Being the best. And now you’re closer than ever.”

“I’m not giving up racing,” Lando snapped, defensive before Max even finished.

“I didn’t say you were,” Max snapped right back at him. “I just don’t want you to stop being Lando Norris: F1 driver and become Lando Norris: the guy who fucked around with his boss’ daughter, you know?”

Lando stared down at his hands. He felt like a piece of shit as he said, “Zak’s basically said the same thing. So has my dad.”

Max nodded. “‘Cause we’re all thinking the same thing, mate.”

Lando rubbed his hands over his face and pulled his hood up. “Maybe you’re right,” he mumbled. “Maybe this isn’t... good timing.”

Max didn’t say anything. He just went back to eating, quiet again.

And Lando hated that suddenly it felt like all of their reasons made sense.

—

The air was different now. Cooler. Thinner. The sun still came through her window in the morning, but it didn’t cling to the walls the same way. The trees had started to shift, just barely, into that pre-autumn colour. And Amelia felt like she was holding her breath all the time. For something. For nothing.

She hadn’t spoken to Lando for days. Not since she'd sent him a photo of the coffee shop in town that had spelled her name wrong again, and all she got back was a laughing emoji. No reply. No question. Just that.

It felt like a door closing very slowly.

She was sitting in the bay window of her bedroom, blanket around her shoulders, golf ball in one hand and her phone in the other. It was the fourth time she'd opened their chat and closed it again. The most recent messages sat there like ghosts.

—

iMessage — 9:04am

Amelia Hope you’re not too tired from training.

—

Read. Two days ago. No response.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure what to write that wouldn’t sound… needy. Or hurt. Or desperate. God, she hated the idea of being too much. It made her skin itch. She didn’t want to become exactly what people were always assuming that she’d be.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, her thoughts, her everything. But it hurt in a way she didn’t understand; this slow, quiet loss. It hurt in a way she didn’t have a name for. It felt a lot like emptiness.

“Don’t spiral,” she whispered to herself, rocking gently, rhythmically. “Don’t spiral. Don’t spiral.”

But it felt like she already was.

—

Both McLaren cars DNF’d in Belgium; the first race back after the Summer break.

She’d written it down two hours before lights out — in the margin of an old notebook, under a page of technical notes she hadn’t meant to be looking at anymore. The exact reason. The probable lap. A strange little instinct that curled in her gut and told her today’s not going to go the way they want it to.

She closed the notebook and put it back in the drawer, and told herself it didn’t matter.

Nobody would ever know. Nobody would ever ask. Because she wasn’t in the garage. Wasn’t in the paddock. Wasn’t even watching from the hospitality suite like she always did, like clockwork.

She was in Woking. In her bedroom. As far from Lando’s garage, from the paddock, as she could possibly be.

And on the TV, when the Sky Sports commentator mentioned her absence like it was some small anomaly (“No sign of Amelia Brown in Norris’ McLaren garage today. Odd, considering she rarely misses a weekend”) she didn’t feel flattered or seen or missed.

She felt sick.

Like the air got thinner the second they said her name.

So she turned it off.

Just like that.

The screen went dark. The sound cut out. And for the first time in ten years, she didn’t watch the entire race.

Not because she didn’t want to.

But because it hurt too much.

NEXT CHAPTER

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grison-in-space · 1 day ago

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yep. cannot overstate how bad this is, y'all.

so who's going with me to protest again in force this weekend with your local 50501/Indivisible/Women's March chapters? and/or start practicing for a general strike?

let's go, chop chop, democracy sure as hell ain't going to save itself without help from every one of y'all. those of you who refused to vote, you get to protest extra in remedial harm reduction studies, but you can ultimately catch up with the class as we move forward. here's where that gets us! go on, anarchist crust punks, start organizing for a general strike and line up food sources, water sources, etc in case of a strike, this is like the thing y'all are best at. now's your chance to shine.

that reminds me. it's too much to be doing everything and knowing everything at once. that's the point. so how do we make sure nothing gets lost in the shuffle?

we trust one another to be different and have different priorities, and everyone picks something and sticks with it. I am currently sitting here typing to you as someone who is a direct target of like, four or five things at once, but even if you are totally unaffected by constant attacks on everyone who isn't a straight white male anti-intellectual I am sure you have particular causes and topics that you think are most important and that you care about most. Good. I trust that you can call me in if I'm preoccupied by one or another and that I can otherwise let you watch over that thing while I handle mine.

artists, it's a great time to think about getting into street art as a form of eyecatching resistance; viral moments spread across social media, and our visual artists and our textile artists have probably the collectively best chance to create that organic, all-present social buzz. we cannot sit down and let anything blow over from everyone right now, and y'all are our best defense against that. pick a topic that you care a lot about, get up and watch it and act for it when it needs you, and don't worry too much if you come in on it a day late and a dollar short: that topic's own people will be standing up for it first.

storytellers, comics, we could use you to help draw attention to the political fight for our rights and to shape the narratives that we use to hurl our fury at this bullshit. what images give people courage? what jokes hit the hardest, afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted? how can you best humanize the many people under attack from this occupation? what are the best things to shout? (singers and poets, we could really use some better things to shout. I was out at the stand up for science march and the slogans were dog shit, we can definitely do better than that.)

scientists, librarians, teachers, museum partisans and scholars, we need so much defense of our higher institutions of learning and of the value of honestly describing the natural world. truth has never been so devalued in American politics, and that is saying something. Make sure we are grounded in the natural world and reality itself. Teach people why we use citation trails to trace the history and the paths taken by ideas over time; not to protect ourselves from accusation of plagiarism, but in order to understand how ideas develop and exactly how a thing we know became known. Sometimes it should not have been. Defend the truth; there can be no justice without truth.

disabled and unemployed folks, stay at home moms, you might not have a lot of resources at your disposal, but many of you have time to spare. this therefore makes you often invaluable to local organizing efforts, because time can be a resource that many other people find difficult to apply.

fellow internet yappers, now is a good time to talk to people and listen during the pauses we aren't talking, because we as chronic yappers are bad at doing that but it is vastly necessary if you're going to put weight on your organizing. if people have concerns when they talk to you, listen and think about them. you will do the best work with people who know, like, and trust you. think about how to foster more connection in your community. also, please get yourself yapping in meatspace at a protest near you soon. protests are invaluable ways to connect to other people in your geographic region who are also spitting mad about this bullshit. make friends and resolve your alienation a little bit by yelling furiously in a group.

our shattering is not fore-ordained. we live in interesting times. who knows what the outcome of this battle will be?

Oh.

We're at "traffic tickets are justification for disappearing people off the street and sending them to death camps with no due process" levels of fascism now.

Okay yeah we're like fucked, fucked.

#us politics

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nomifae · 3 days ago

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Why Hazbin is so dear to my heart ❤️

I know this might be cringe to others but idc, here we are cringe and free ✨🙌

I’m not kidding when I say Hazbin seriously saved me when it comes to art and other things in my life. Before the first season released I was feeling so lost with where to go with my art, I only drew anime girl with simple pose, and while there is nothing bad with that cus I still do like those arts, I just felt like something was missing, I wasn’t satisfied at all but didn’t know what to do about it.

Then after watching the show and becoming completely sucked into the story and the characters, I realised what I was missing. I had stopped drawing art with emotion and a story behind it. I only drew for the aesthetic and nothing more, while that is what a lot of artists enjoy doing, it was just not the path I wanted to take.

Years ago as a kid I did draw art that had a story behind them and comics as well, and that’s what Hazbin finally brought me back to. It pushed me out of my comfort zone again and challenged me to draw different things. It has really made me look forward to doing art again, and helped with my depression. While ofc I still struggle with my depression it would be much worse if I had not gotten into this show. I honestly don’t know where I would be right now.

Hazbin helped me:

- Find my love for art again

- Find a lot of new friends to talk to since I used to only speak to like 2 people before

- Make my mood so much better that I felt well enough to move back into my own apartment

- Just find motivation in life overall and to continue fighting

Anyways don’t mind my little ramble ahahh! This is why when I constantly see hate about Hazbin such as ”Nobody likes this show” ”It is such a bad show why do people care about it?”

Like sure you can dislike it that’s fine, but don’t say that NOBODY likes this show. A lot of people do, and I know there are many artists that found their motivation again thanks to this show. So while it is not for you, it is very special to a lot of us 🩵

#hazbin hotel #my art #hazbin hotel fanart #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #radiostatic #staticradio #voxal #hazbin alastor #vox x alastor #vox hazbin hotel #alastor x vox

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mattrempeswife · 14 hours ago

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GAME MISCONDUCT

series: blue and blind hearts | part: 01 02 03 04

pair: quinn hughes x f!reader

genre: angst, slow burn, friends to lovers.

warnings: emotional angst, unrequited love, reader feeling like a second choice, mention of breakup, slow-burn tension, unresolved feelings, a soft but heavy confrontation.

summary: you try to move on, to create distance between your heart and the boy who’s unknowingly held it for years. but after his breakup with sophia, quinn finds himself unraveling and reaching for the only constant he’s ever had. the only person who’s always been there. you. but when he finally shows up at your door, you’re no longer sure whether you want to open your heart again or slam it shut for good.

fia’s notes: there’s no official taglist for this series, but if you’d like to be tagged just let me know!

You didn’t realize how quiet your apartment could feel until you came back from Vancouver.

The silence wasn’t just peaceful… it was hollow. Something was missing, and you hated that your brain automatically tried to fill the void with Quinn’s voice, his laugh, the sound of him opening your fridge like it was his own.

You hated even more that it had been over a week and he still hadn’t really reached out.

A simple, vague text ‘you okay?’ had arrived six days after you left, as if he were checking a box. You’d responded with a halfhearted, ‘yeah, just busy,’ and that was that.

But you weren’t busy.

You were avoiding.

Avoiding the ache in your chest that pulsed every time you remembered how Sophia looked at you like you were a threat. How Quinn didn’t notice. Or how maybe he did and just didn’t care.

You tried. God, you really tried not to care anymore.

But caring had become muscle memory. You didn’t know how to stop.

Quinn, meanwhile, was falling apart.

The media noticed first. Sloppy turnovers. Lazy shifts. Uncharacteristic mistakes. His skating still looked sharp, but his head wasn’t in the game. And when you’re the captain, people start to whisper.

His phone buzzed after practice one night.

Jack: What’s going on with you?

Quinn stared at the message. He didn’t respond.

What was he supposed to say? ‘I can’t think straight because I let the most important person in my life slip through my fingers and now I can’t breathe without wondering if she’s already forgetting me?’

Instead, he turned his phone face down and leaned back against the wall of his apartment, eyes closed, jaw clenched.

Sophia was gone. Her stuff too. She left three days ago, and it hadn’t sunk in until now. Until the silence started to sound like your voice instead of hers.

He didn’t remember the last time he felt this alone.

You got the text at 10:43 PM on a Wednesday.

Quinn: Can I call?

It wasn’t unusual for Quinn to call late. But something about this one made your stomach knot. You stared at the screen for a moment, then typed.

You: Everything okay?

His reply came fast. Almost too fast.

Quinn: No.

You didn’t even get to ask before the next message came in.

Quinn: Sophia and I broke up.

Your chest went still.

You read the text over and over, but it didn’t land. Didn’t feel real. This wasn’t how you wanted it to happen. You didn’t want to be the person he came crawling to because someone else decided to walk away first.

And yet, some small, stupid part of you still hoped.

Quinn: Can I come see you?

You didn’t answer.

Not that night.

Not the next day either.

But two days later, when you opened your front door and saw him standing there hoodie half-zipped, face tired, eyes softer than you remembered you knew it was too late to pretend.

You stepped aside silently.

He walked in without a word.

The tension filled the room before either of you said anything.

Quinn stood in the middle of your living room like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. You didn’t offer him a seat. You didn’t ask if he wanted something to drink.

You just… looked at him.

He looked smaller than usual. Not physically, but emotionally. Like the weight on his shoulders had finally started pressing down hard enough to show.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said quietly.

You swallowed.

“I didn’t think you’d come at all.”

He looked at you for a long moment.

“I should’ve come sooner.”

“You should’ve done a lot of things.”

The silence was sharp.

He nodded slowly. “I deserved that.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying not to fold under the way he was looking at you now like he was seeing you clearly for the first time. Like you weren’t just a safe place, but the place.

“She said I didn’t love her,” he said suddenly.

You blinked.

“Sophia?”

He nodded. “She said I loved someone else.”

You didn’t say anything.

“She said I looked at you like… like I couldn’t look away.”

Your throat tightened.

“And what did you say to that?”

“I didn’t deny it.”

A crack formed somewhere deep in your chest.

“I think I’ve always known,”

He said, taking a step toward you.

“That it was you. Even when I was with her. Even when you were smiling at me like I hung the moon and I was too fucking blind to see it.”

You let out a sharp breath. “Quinn, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t stand here and tell me you’ve always known. Don’t make this into some romantic realization just because your girlfriend left.”

“She didn’t leave because of you,” he argued.

“She left because you wanted me,” you shot back.

“Even if you didn’t know it yet.”

He didn’t respond.

You shook your head.

“You don’t get to show up and confess now that you’re lonely.”

“I’m not here because I’m lonely,”

He said, stepping closer.

“I’m here because I finally pulled my head out of my ass and realized what I’ve been doing to you. To us.”

“There is no ‘us,’ Quinn.”

His expression cracked. “There could be.”

You laughed, but it wasn’t kind.

“You think I didn’t spend years dreaming of that? Of this? Every time you made me feel like the only person in the room, only to go home to someone else? Every time I listened to you talk about your relationships like I didn’t already love you enough for both of us?”

Tears burned in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall.

“You’re not allowed to make me your second choice after all this time.”

“I’m not,” he said, voice breaking.

“You’ve never been second. I just… I didn’t know how to face it. How to admit that the one person I can’t lose is you.”

You shook your head again, this time weaker.

“You don’t get to rewrite the past just because you’re ready now.”

He looked like he wanted to say something like there were a thousand apologies sitting on his tongue but none of them were enough. So he just stood there.

And you let the silence speak instead.

“I can’t be your rebound,” you whispered.

“You’re not.”

“I can’t be the girl you come to when things fall apart.”

“You’ve always been more than that.”

“I needed you to choose me,” you said, voice trembling.

“Before. When it mattered.”

His eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in them before with regret, raw and real.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

You looked away. “I’m tired, Quinn.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I can do this again.”

He nodded, slowly. “I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

You met his eyes again, and for the first time, he didn’t look like a boy with the world at his feet. He looked like a man who realized he could lose the only thing that ever felt like home.

You didn’t say yes.

But you didn’t ask him to leave, either.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes nhl #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x f!reader #quinn hughes x fem!reader #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines

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athenamikaelson · 3 days ago

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Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Ch. 28

Word Count- 5.6k

Warnings- swearing, references to the sexual encounters in the last chapter, violence, blood, regular stuff like normal

The sun peeking through the windows awakens me from my peaceful dream. I raise my hand and cover my face as I remember small details: I was sitting in a forest surrounded by beautiful trees, flowers, and the scent of nature. It was peaceful. Elijah was there aswell, but his hair was longer, and the clothes he was wearing were definitely not from the century. He still looked hot, though, so props to him.

“It appears someone slept well.”

A familiar, annoying voice makes me sit up quickly and clutch my blanket to my chest.

` “Kol! What the hell are you doing in my house?!”

Kol, who is leaning against my wooden door- wait. That is not my door. My vision quickly turns to the room around me, and I realize that none of this stuff is mine. I then notice the soft fabric that is covering my chest, and my eyes widen when I see an expensive-looking button-up. Ya, that definitely isn't mine.

“Don’t tell me my brother made you forget last night.”

Kol steps into the room and throws himself onto the edge of the bed and props himself up on his elbows to look at me.

“Damn, he must’ve been really bad if he wanted you to forget,” Kol smirks to himself, “Unlike my brother I never leave a girl wanting more.”

I frown. Kol pauses.

“Wait, I worded that wrong. What I mean’t was-”

“Brother, leave Y/n alone.”

I whip my head from Kol to his older brother, and heat instantly flies throughout my body as I am flooded with the memory of everything that happened last night. Elijah and I’s argument, our kiss, his desk…oh. OH.

I turn to look over at Elijah’s desk only to see that it is in perfect condition, not a book or pen out of place.

“We’re just having girl talk,” Kol tells his brother, and I don’t even have to look at the younger Mikaelson to know he’s wearing a smirk.

“Kol. Out,” Elijah’s deep voice leaves no room for objection, and I turn to Kol, who rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, no need to get your nickers in a twist, brother. I was just coming to say goodbye.”

I frown.

“You’re leaving?”

Kol’s smirk widens, and he stands up, “Eh, don’t get too sad, Little Doll. I’ll be back. Niklaus is just having me run a little errand for him, and I don’t feel like ending up with a dagger in my back again, so I happily obliged to help the annoying bastard. We shall keep in touch, though, don’t worry.”

I watch as Kol strolls to the door, and I call out to him.

“Be careful…and try not to hurt too many people, please?”

Kol pauses and he looks over his shoulder at me with a small smile, “No promises, Doll.”

I release a deep sigh as Kol leaves the room, leaving Elijah and me alone.

I make myself busy by messing with Elijah’s comforter, and I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.

“How are you feeling?”

I suck on my teeth for a moment before nodding, “Cool.”

Elijah pauses, “Cool?”

I slowly look to him and see a small, amused smile on his face, but his eyes seem to hold a bit of uncertainty.

“Yep, cool. How are you?”

Elijah’s smile slightly widens, and he takes a step closer, “I am quite alright, Elskan. How did you sleep?”

I brush a hand over the soft fabric of the blanket covering me, “Better than I’ve slept since I was like 8. This bed is crazy comfy.”

Elijah nods, and once again, we’re both silent.

God, this is so fucking embarassing.

“Are you…Do you,” Elijah pauses as he can’t seem to find the right words.

“I’m good, Elijah. I don’t regret what happened. Do you?”

Elijah’s eyebrows quickly furrow at my question, and he comes over to the bed and sits by my legs.

“Last night was the second-best thing in over a thousand years that I have ever experienced, my love. Never will I ever regret anything when it comes to being with you; you have my word on that.”

Elijah’s words bring a smile to my face until I realize he said it was the second best. Who the actual fuck is his first?

“What was the first?”

“The first what, Elskan?”

“You just said last night was the second best thing; what was the first time?”

Elijah reaches a hand up and brushes a stray hair behind my ear, “The best thing would be the day those many months ago when I walked into that dust-filled mansion and saw the love of my life sitting before me. That moment and the way I felt when I saw you for the first time will stay with me until the Sun is nothing but star dust.

God, what did I ever do in my life to deserve someone like him?

“You’ve really got a way with words, you know that?”

Elijah’s lips turn into a small smirk, “After a thousand years, you tend to pick up a fews tricks.”

I reach my hand up and give him a playful shove, and Elijah flinches in pain, but I know even if I was using all my strength, it would probably feel like a slight pinch to him, so he just did that to make me feel good.

We smile at each other until a thought comes to my mind, and I reach my hand up to my neck, expecting to feel bite marks, but I feel nothing.

“I healed you whilst you were sleeping,” Elijah comments, and I nod slowly and look at the clothes I’m wearing.

“And put me in your clothes?”

“When you were in the bath, you started falling asleep, so I helped you out, and you tried dressing yourself, but you were too tired, so I helped you, and I-”

“It’s cool, Lijah. I mean, you’ve already seen me…y’know.”

Elijah clears his throat, and I see a tint of pink cover his cheeks. I can’t help it as I reach a finger up and trace it over his face.

Elijah’s eyes don’t leave my face as I admire his.

“I like it when you do that.”

Elijah’s eyebrows furrow slightly, “Do what, my Love?”

It’s my turn to smirk, “Blush. I like it when you blush.”

Elijah’s face drops slightly, “I do not blush.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Elskan, I do not.”

“What happened to you not lying to me,” I give him a sarcastic smile.

Elijah’s eyes roll. This bitch just rolled his eyes at me.

“Are you hungry?”

I give him a deadpan look, “Nice subject change, Suit and Tie.”

Elijah gives me a look and then stands up, fixes his already perfect suit, and then reaches his hand out for me.

“Fine. But I want waffles.”

—

“You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Elijah looks up from the bowl of waffle mix and gives me a look, “I have been alive for a long time, Elskan. I am not completely terrible in the kitchen, but I must say I’m not so used to making waffles,” He pours out some batter into the fry pan and smiles at me.

“Then what do you like making?”

I spin in the stool I’m sitting in at the counter in the Mikaelson’s expensive ass kitchen.

“French food is a personal favorite of mine. One of my personal favorite dishes is Lamb Shank Navarin; the way the lamb melts in your mouth is beautiful. Do you like lamb?”

I shrug, “Never had it.”

Elijah hums, and he reaches into a drawer and grabs a spatula, “I’ll have to make it for you soon then.”

I give him a smile, “I’d like that.”

“Ah, if it isn’t the happy couple.”

I spin in my chair and freeze when I make eye contact with Klaus.

“Niklaus, how can we help you?”

Klaus shrugs dramatically as he makes his way into the kitchen, “Just wanted to check in on my dear older brother and my lovely soulmate,” Klaus saunters over to the stool next to me and places himself on it, and I side-eye Elijah, who shakes his head at his brother.

All three of us sit there in silence as tension fills the environment.

I look over and see Klaus glaring daggers at his older brother, pun not intended. Elijah looks at his younger brother as he begins plating my waffles and almost glares at him. I watch silently as Klaus’s eyes narrow slightly.

“Alright, what the hell is going on with you two?”

Both Klaus and Elijah look at me, and Klaus gives Elijah a nasty smile. Elijah walks around the island and places a plate of waffles covered in strawberries and syrup.

These two are going to ruin my lovely breakfast, aren’t they?

“Oh, nothing is wrong, my little Muse,” Klaus smiles at me, but something in it unsettles me, “Why would it be? I mean, I had a nice night, finished a painting I had been working on for some time now,” Klaus then turns to Elijah, “How was your night, brother?”

Elijah, who now stands back near the stove, taps his index finger on the counter as he stares wordlessly at his brother.

“Brother, I suggest you be very careful about what you say next,” Elijah’s words come out slow and careful.

“What the hell are you to gabbing about?!”

Klaus and Elijah don’t respond, too busy with their stare-off.

“Ok, whatever, I’m not going to let you two wankers ruin my waffles.”

With that, I pick up my plate and walk out of the kitchen.

—

I walk through the long halls of the Mikaelson’s house, munching on my waffles and glancing at the artwork.

“Y/n!”

I whip around, almost dropping my waffles, but thankfully, I don’t.

Sage stands behind me in nothing but a long men's shirt, a shirt I’m guessing is from Finn.

“Oh, hi, Sage. Morning.”

Sage gives me a small bashful smile as she pushes down the shirt she’s wearing.

“I heard you walking by and just wanted to thank you again for everything.”

I smile at her, “It’s not like I did much, but you’re welcome.”

“I’ve never been more happy in my life. I never thought I’d see my Finn again, but I never gave up hope.”

My heart warms at her words, “I’m happy for you, Sage, truly.”

“Sage, my soul, are you coming back to be- Oh, Y/n.”

Finn and I make eye contact, and I inhale as I realize all he has covering himself is a white sheet.

Finn notices this and quickly hides his bottom half behind the door to what must be his room.

“Uh, morning, Finn,” I nod awkwardly at him.

“You as well, Y/n,” He gives me an awkward smile, and we both stay quiet for a minute until Sage lets out a small laugh.

“Well, we’re going to go back to bed, I’m quite tired. I’m sure you are too,” Sage gives me a knowing look, and I frown.

“What’s the look for?”

Sage and Finn eye each other at my question and then both give me an “Are you serious?” look.

“What?!” Finn shakes his head, “I’m not doing this,” and then walks back into his room.

“Sage, what is going on?”

Sage clears her throat and smiles at me, “Y/n, sweetheart, you’re in a house full of vampires with super hearing, which means they can hear everything. Like everything.”

What the hell is she talking ab- ohhhh. Oh. Oh no.

“So you’ve got it now? Don’t even worry about it, love. You two are soulmates; everyone knew it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Sage’s words don’t calm me down or stop the embarrassment that is flowing through me.

Why the fuck did I not think that they would hear me? They. OH FUCK ME KLAUS!

“Shit, I’ve got to go,” I tighten y grip on my waffles and run down the hallway.

That’s why Klaus was so Klaus this morning.

HE HEARD HIS BROTHER GOING DOWN ON ME.

I run towards the living room and open the door and-

“WHAT THE FUCK REBEKAH?!” The sound of glass shattering fills my ears, and I realize I’ve just dropped my plate.

“MY WAFFLES!”

“I’m chained up by your sister-in-law, and you're worried about your waffles, Pukey, seriously?!”

I look at the shirtless and bloody Damon in front of me, who is, as he said, chained up.

“Oh, don’t yell at her. The only reason you’re in this position is because of your own actions,” Rebekah chastises him as she holds a fire poker.

“Rebekah, what is going on?”

“I’m hurt about him and Sage taking advantage of me, so I’m bleeding the vervain out of his system so I can compel him to kill his brother and Elena.”

This bitch.

“Rebekah, Elena is my friend. And you know if you go near her Klaus will be pissed.”

“I’m more of a friend to you than her. She doesn’t even talk to you anymore.”

Rebekah’s words send a sharp pain through my heart, and I want to tell her she’s wrong, but I know I can’t.

“Well, look what you caught.”

I’m taken out of my thoughts at Klaus’s voice.

Klaus comes and stands a foot away from me, and I quickly inhale the woodsy, dark scent of him that has my knees feeling like jelly. The black leather jacket he’s decided to wear today doesn’t help my case either.

“If you’re trying to bleed him of vervain, don’t you think it would be easier to hang him upside down?”

My mouth drops open at the thought, and Damon shoots me a slightly worried look.

“I’m perfectly capable of inflicting pain, thank you very much,” Rebekah snarkily responds to her brother.

“Oh, well, excuse me. It’s not like I have any expertise in the matter,” Klaus jokes with a roll of his blue eyes.

“You know why don’t you just leave me be and go and manage your witch?”

“Witch? What witch?”

Klaus looks at his fingernails instead of me.

“Klaus, I swear if you did anything to hurt Bonnie-”

“Easy, luv. Your little friend is just helping me with a little problem,” Klaus gives me a sarcastic smile that I want to hit off his face. Asshole.

Klaus goes to turn away, but Damon, speaking, stops him.

“Why are you even with them, Y/n? I know the bastard over here and the one with a stick up his ass are your mates or whatever but why are you being so naive?”

“I suggest you watch your words, Salvatore,” Rebekah says in a dark tone I don’t think I’ve ever heard from her before, and Klaus is uncharacteristically silent next to me.

“I mean it, Y/n. You’re really throwing away your friendships for these people. You’re literally walking around eating their food,” He looks at my fallen waffles, “You wear their clothes, and I’m guessing the reason behind that is because you’ve let them touch you. You’re supposed to be the smart one, and yet you don’t even see that they’re using you.”

I swallow back the lump in my throat as I step closer to him, “They are not using me.”

“Then why do they have you around? I know you’re their soulmate, but come on, Pukey, be for real. You’re nothing special. They’re thousand-year-old vampires. Why would they want to be around someone who can’t even be in a room with more than five people without having a panic attack?”

Everyone in the room is silent for a moment, and the only thing I feel is a dark smugness in my chest. A smugness that is laughing at me because it knew from the very beginning of my friendship with Damon that it wouldn’t last. Why would it? Just like Damon says, “You’re nothing special.”

“Nothing special, huh?”

I take a step forward, and Damon gives me a frown and shakes his head.

“That’s not what I mean’t Pukey I just-” “My name isn’t fucking Pukey!”

I rip the fire poker out of Bekah’s hands and shove it into Damon’s chest. A loud yell of pain comes from him, and I feel a splash of blood cover my face, and I can’t seem to care.

I leave the poker in him and begin to walk out of the room, not wanting anyone to see my tears, but as I pass Klaus, he grabs my face and his eyes search mine for a moment and as soon as I feel a tear drop onto my cheek, Klaus releases a low growl, and drops his hand.

“You just don’t know how to keep your mouth closed, do you, Mate? Why don’t I help you?’’

I watch as Klaus takes the fire poker from Damon’s stomach, whispers something to him, and then drives the poker up through his neck and out his throat. He then turns around, strides away, grabbing my lower back in the process, and leads me out of the room.

We’re both quiet as I let Klaus lead me down the hall and into a decent-sized bathroom, of course decorated beautifully. I don’t really care about admiring the bathroom, though, as I try to focus on calming the rising panic attack I feel looming.

“Up you go, love,” Klaus says, and I don’t understand what he means by it until he grabs my waist and hoists me up so I’m sitting on the bathroom counter. I watch silently as he grabs a cloth from a cabinet and wets it.

“Tell me something,” Klaus says in a low voice.

“Why?”

“Because I’m fighting every urge in my body and mind right now to not go back out there and tear that useless waste of space into a million shreds. And you’re voice,” He pauses as he turns off the water and comes to stand between my legs, “I’ve come to realize is my own personal destresser.”

“Why don’t you just go kill him,” I say, and I realize I don’t feel an ounce of fear at the thought. I don’t really feel anything right now. My emotions need to get their shit together.

Maybe I should just start doing drugs.

“I want to trust me, Muse. But I know that even though you’re mad at that insect right now, you couldn’t live with yourself if you were the cause of his death.”

“I wouldn’t care,” I say unconvincingly.

Klaus gives me a soft smile I rarely ever see, then takes the cloth and wipes it softly over my lower chin, “If you’re going to be a Mikaelson, we have really got to work on your lying skills.”

I narrow my eyes at him, “I’m a good liar.”

Klaus leans in, and I hold my breath as he presses a soft kiss to my lips. It’s brief, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling warm all over.

“Sure you are, Astin min.”

“You’ve got way too many nicknames for me,” I mutter, and Klaus lets out a laugh as he finishes wiping my face. He tosses the bloody cloth behind him into a basket and grabs my waist to help me down, even though I’m plenty capable of doing it myself.

“My turn,” Klaus gives me a confused look, but I turn around and go into the cabinet I had seen Klaus reach into, and I smile as I find a dark blue cloth and grab it.

“I would tell you to sit on the counter, but I wound’t be able to reach you.”

Klaus watches me silently as I repeat his actions, wet the cloth, and then move in front of him and start to wipe the dried blood from his face and hands.

“Are you mad at me?”

The confused look on Klaus’ face is honestly fucking adorable.

“Why would I ever be mad at you?”

I pause my movements for a moment and cringe when I realize I’m about to bring up the elephant in the room.

“I know you heard me and Elijah…”

Klaus’s confused expression is gone and replaced with a look of annoyance. He takes the cloth from my hands and places it onthe counter, steps around me, and then just washes his own hands in the sink.

“I’m not mad.”

I shake my head at him, annoyed, “Well, your actions are telling me otherwise.”

Klaus turns off the water with a sigh and then turns to me abruptly to the point where I am now backed up to the counter, and he’s pretty much caged me in.

“I wasn’t mad, Little Muse, I was jealous.”

Oh.

“Jealous?”

Klaus watches me like a predator, and I fight every urge in myself to not surrender control.

Klaus hums, “When I heard you screaming out my brother’s name, all I could think about was how much better you’d sound screaming out mine instead.”

Oh Lord.

“Oh. Okay.”

Klaus leans back slightly, “Okay? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

I shrug, “What should I say?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe how you agree?”

Klaus’s sarcastic voice makes me laugh.

“Are you seriously laughing right now,” Klaus’s appalled face makes me laugh harder, “I’m telling you how I want to fuck you until you’re screaming out my name and you’re laughing?”

I cover my mouth and shake my other hand in apology, but it doesn’t seem to help much.

“Well, Luv, you can continue your little comedy show, but I’ve got things to do,” Klaus’s slightly hurt tone halts my laughing, and I reach out for him as he goes towards the bathroom door.

“I’m not laughing at the idea of us being together, I just find how you word things funny sometimes.”

Klaus’s shoulders seem to loosen at my words, and he rolls his eyes.

“So you do want to be with me,” Klaus says in a suggestive tone as he takes a step closer to me.

“Ugh, not now sicko,” I shove him back and he breaths out a laugh.

He stares at me for a moment with a look I’ve only seen maybe 3 times on his face, a look I don’t really know the meaning of.

“What?”

Klaus clears his throat, “Nothing, Little Muse. I just don’t think I’ve ever been called a “sicko” before.”

“At least not to your face,” I comment, and he rolls his eyes again.

“Brother!”

Rebekah’s loud voice comes from the other side of the bathroom door, and Klaus’s once calm expression turns to one of complete and utter annoyance.

“Sister, don’t you have a prisoner to torture?”

“He’s unconscious thanks to you,” She yells through the door.

“Well then, there’s plenty of other men in this town that you can annoy with your presence. Go find one of them,” Klaus sarcastically bites back.

“Dude, be nice.”

“Yes, brother, listen to your mate.”

Klaus narrows his eyes at me and then back to the door and sighs, “What do you want, Rebekah?”

“You’re witch is being annoying, come handle her or I will.”

“Oh, yes, forgot about her,” Klaus mutters and throws the bathroom door open to find an annoyed-looking Bekah.

“You know not to touch her, sister.”

“I know, but I don’t get why we just don’t kill the lot of them and be done with it. We’ll spare the Gilbert brother, though, because I know he’s Theo’s,” Rebekah looks to me for approval.

“Seriously, Bekah?”

“Sister, leave us,” Klaus waves her off, and Bekah calls him a bunch of swears as she storms down the hall.

“You should be nicer to her, y’know? She loves you.”

“My sister knows that I do what is best for her,” Klaus says as he leads us down a hall.

“Does she?”

Klaus side-eyes me momentarily before opening two glass doors leading us into another room.

How many rooms does this place have? Fucking rich people.

“Tick tock. I should hear chanting by now,” Klaus says to Bonnie, who is sitting on a leather couch surrounded by witchy stuff.

“I’m still studying the unlinking spell. It’s not that easy, especially under duress.”

“Duress,” I chime up, and Bonnie, who must’ve just noticed me, looks up at me, “Klaus, you said you would do nothing to her. If you’ve touched her, I swear to-”

“Bloody hell, Luv. I’ve not touched her. I’ve just provided some incentive to get her moving.”

I shake my head in confusion as Klaus leans down to face Bonnie, “If you’re looking for a way to send for help, I will kill anyone who comes to your rescue.”

Hell no.

I quickly walk over to him and press a hand into his chest. Even though I have no strength, Klaus lets me push him back, making a smirk fall onto his face.

“Can’t you just ever ask nicely for once? Seriously?”

“It’s ok, Y/n. I can handle it,” Bonnie tries to calm me, but I shake my head.

“No, it’s not okay. Bonnie is kind and has always been nice to me, and if you ever want to have anything happen between us, then you won’t ever threaten her. Got it?”

I stare down at Klaus, and he stares down at me. Neither one of us breaks the silence until Bonnie clears her throat.

“This is the spell. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

“Then you should have a little more faith in yourself, Bonnie,” Klaus eyes the girl behind me and steps away from me, “Your energy helped my mother link us. Honestly, I think someone isn’t trying very hard.”

Klaus walks over to Bonnie, who stares the man down. We both watch as Klaus reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, “Very well.”

“Call Alastair. How’s the weather up there in Mile-High City? And how’s our friend? That’s him,” Klaus pulls the phone back from his ear and puts it in front of Bonnie’s face and shows her a video of Jeremy, “There’s Jeremy. Playing fetch with his new puppy. Isn’t that the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?”

Klaus walks away from Bonnie and hangs up the phone.

“Seriously, Klaus?!”

Klaus sends me a sweet smile, “Luv, why don’t you give Bonnie and I some time alone.”

I return his sweet smile, “And how about you take a long and thick stick and drive it right up your ass.”

“Maybe another time, Luv.”

Klaus turns back around to Bonnie, “So, Bonnie, how about that spell?”

—

“I won’t let him hurt Jeremy, y’know,” I tell Bonnie as we sit around a coffee table looking over the spell she has to do for Klaus.

Bonnie gives me a sad smile, “I know you’ll try to stop him, but he’s evil, Y/n. I don’t think anyone could stop him.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Klaus, who stands against the wall watching us, chimes in.

“Shut up,” I bite back at him, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“You must hate me for this,” I whisper to her, even though I know Klaus is listening to everything we say.

Bonnie places the paper she was reading back down and sighs, “I don’t hate you, Y/n. You’re my friend. It’s not your fault that fate decided to put you with two of the oldest vampires in history. And you still stick up for me, which is more than I can say for a lot of people. And I meant what I said before. I wouldn’t have helped our friends try to kill them if I knew it would kill you too. You’re innocent.”

I smile at Bonnie, and she returns it.

“You’re too good for this world, Bonnie Bennet. You do know that, right?”

Bonnie shrugs and smiles, “Maybe. But if I don’t find a way to break this bond, then I won’t be in this world much longer.”

Nuh-uh. Not happening on my watch.

“Ok, let’s think…”

Bonnie and I are quiet for a moment as we try to think of a solution.

“OH! Remember Elijah’s witc,h Jonas? You told me that he let you channel him or something witchy like that that let you gain power. Why can’t you do that again?’

“Finally, someone here with a good idea,” Klaus’s voice booms, and I roll my eyes.

Bonnie is quiet and then shakes her head, “But that was with another witch, there’s no other witches here for me to channel.”

“Bloody hell, then channel the dead ones. There’s plenty of them,” Klaus says, annoyed.

“After I brought Jeremy back, they won’t talk to me anymore, let alone let me channel them!”

I nod at Bonnie’s words, “Ya they’re fucking weird.”

Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose and then turns around and grabs a black box on the table.

“Well, here is the blood of all my siblings. Which I know you need,” He opens the box to show four vials of blood, “I suggest you find the solution and fast before I start picking off your loved ones one by one.”

“Don’t listen to him, Bonnie,” I turn to her, “We’ll figure it out.”

—

“I think I’ve got it!” I put down the grimoire I’m holding and look up to Bonnie, who is already setting up her candles.

“Really?

Bonnie nods, “There’s a spell here that pretty much says if I use some of my blood with the spell, it ties me to my ancestors, which means I can channel them.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Who bloody cares if it’s dangerous,” Klaus pipes in, and I sigh, “Just do the spell.”

I smile at Bonnie, “You can do this.”

—

Bonnie did it. Obviously.

“Oh my god,” Bonnie exclaims as we walk through the entryway and past the door where Damon is still being hung up.

“Yes, well, he made Rebekah quite upset and insulted my dear Y/n here,” I turn away at Klaus’s words, “But by all means, Bonnie, go save the man that turned your mother into a vampire.”

Bonnie eyes him for a moment before turning away as well, “Just get me out of here.”

“Let me do this,” I tell Klaus, who just rolls his eyes and leaves us.

“Come on. I’ll walk you out,” I smile at Bonnie and lead her towards the front door. Something on Bonnie’s face makes me pause, though.

“What is it? Are you okay,” I grab her shoulders and look over her, “Was the spell too much? We should sit down, come on.”

“No, Y/n. I’m ok. It’s just…”

I narrow my eyes at her weird behavior, “Bonnie, what is it?”

“When I was channeling one of my ancestors, I heard something.”

“What did you hear, Bonnie?”

“They said, 'If one monster leaves, so shall they all.’”

I look at her confused, “Uh, ya Bonnie. That is what the unlinking was for.”

Bonnie shakes her head, “No, that’s not what they meant.”

“Then what did they mean, Bonnie?”

Bonnie gives me a worried look, “It means if one of the originals dies, so won’t every vampire created by them.”

Excuse me?

“I’ve got to call Elena and stop her.”

“Stop her from doing what, Bonnie? Stop her from doing what!”

—

They were going to kill Finn. What the actual fuck.

Bonnie told me Stefan, Caroline, and Elena planned to wait for Bonnie to finish the unlinking spell, and then as soon as she did, they would use the white oak stakes that they got from the Welcome to Mystic Falls sign, which apparently was also made from the same wood as Wickey Bridge and have Elena kill Finn. They were going to do it while all the Orignals were linked, but then they remembered that if Klaus and Elijah die, then so don’t I. So they are putting off killing those two until they find a way to break the soul bond.

I don’t even know how to feel right now. At least my friends don’t want me dead…I guess???

Thankfully though, Bonnie got to Elena before they could kill Finn and he’s now sitting with Sage in the living room, severly pissed. But still both alive, so that’s a win.

Now Klaus, Elijah, Rebekah, and I are listening to Stefan clearly lie to us about not having any more stakes in his possession. He came here with 7 and tried to barter for his brother’s freedom, but Klaus caught him in a lie.

“So, Damon,” Klaus compels the younger vampire, “beside the 7 in here. How many other stakes are out there that can kill me?”

Damon sighs, “Eleven.”

Bruh.

“Eleven! Really? So not eight then,” Klaus sends a glare to Stefan and Elijah is eyeing them both silently.

“You really shouldn’t have lied,” Rebekah shakes her head.

“I’ll get you the other three.”

“That would be in your best interest, Mr. Salvatore. Especially with this new revelation surrounding our sire lines.”

“Eh, maybe I’ll just compel your brother to chew out his own tongue,” Klaus jokes.

“What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with you! Do you really have no appreciation for me,” Klaus chastises Stefan, “I have given you someone to hate. To loathe. A TARGET for all of your anger! So you don’t have to turn it on yourself. I have given your life purpose as your friend.”

Can these two just fuck already?

Klaus bables on some more, which provokes Stefan to attack him.

“I’m out,” I mutter and walk past Elijah, who nods at me in understanding, and then I walk past the two fighting vampires. Stefan currently has a white oak stake raised at Klaus, but I already know there’s nothing to worry about since Klaus could literally squash him like a bug.

As I enter the entryway again, I pause when I feel a presence behind me. I quickly turned around, and I’m surprised by the demon in front of me. “Alastair?”

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backinmypjs · 2 days ago

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Behaving With Emotional Maturity

A checklist from the same book on developing emotionally mature interactions and behaviors.

Being Willing to Ask for Help

• I’ll ask for help whenever I need to.

• I’ll remind myself that if I need something, most people will be glad to help if they can.

• I’ll use clear, intimate communication to ask for what I want, explaining my feelings and the reasons for my request.

• I’ll trust that most people will listen if I ask them to.

Being Myself, Whether People Accept Me or Not

• When I state my thoughts clearly and politely, without malice, I won’t try to control how people take it.

• I won’t give more energy than I really have.

• Instead of trying to please, I’ll give other people a true indication of how I feel.

• I won’t volunteer for something if I think I’ll resent it later.

• If someone says something I find offensive, I’ll offer an alternative viewpoint. I won’t try to change the other person’s mind; I just won’t let the statement go unremarked.

Sustaining and Appreciating Emotional Connections

• I’ll make a point of keeping in touch with special people I care about and returning their calls or electronic messages.

• I’ll think of myself as a strong person who deserves to give and receive help from my community of friends.

• Even when people aren’t saying the “right” thing, I’ll tune in to whether they’re trying to help me. If their effort makes me feel emotionally nurtured, I’ll express my gratitude.

• When I’m irritated with someone, I’ll think about what I want to say that could improve our relationship. I’ll wait until I cool off and then ask if the other person is willing to listen to my feelings.

Having Reasonable Expectations for Myself

• I’ll keep in mind that being perfect isn’t always necessary. I’ll get stuff done rather than obsess over getting things done perfectly.

• When I get tired, I’ll rest or do something different. My level of physical energy will tell me when I’ve been doing too much. I won’t wait for an accident or illness to make me stop.

• When I make a mistake, I’ll chalk it up to being human. Even if I think I’ve anticipated everything, there will be outcomes I don’t expect.

• I’ll remember that everyone is responsible for their own feelings and for expressing their needs clearly. Beyond common courtesy, it isn’t up to me to guess what others want.

Communicating Clearly and Actively Seeking the Outcomes I Want

• I won’t expect people to know what I need unless I tell them. Caring about me doesn’t mean they automatically know what I’m feeling.

• If people close to me upset me, I’ll use my pain to identify my underlying need. Then I’ll use clear, intimate communication to provide guidance on how they could give it to me.

• When my feelings are hurt, I’ll try to understand my reaction first. Did something trigger feelings from my past, or did the person really treat me insensitively? If someone was insensitive, I’ll ask him or her to hear me out.

• I’ll be thoughtful to other people, and if they aren’t thoughtful in return, I’ll ask them to be more considerate and then let it go.

• I’ll ask for something as many times as it takes to get a clear answer.

• When I get tired of interacting, I’ll politely speak up, asking if we can continue our contact at another time. I’ll explain kindly that I’m just out of gas at the moment.

Recognizing emotionally mature people

Taken from Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson, Psy.D. A summary of the tips the book hands you on how to recognize emotionally healthy people.

They’re realistic and reliable

They work with reality rather than fighting it. They see problems and try to fix them, instead of overreacting with a fixation on how things should be.

They can feel and think at the same time. The ability to think even when upset makes an emotionally mature person someone you can reason with. They don’t lose their ability to see another perspective just because they aren’t getting what they want.

Their consistency makes them reliable. Because they have an integrated sense of self, they usually won’t surprise you with unexpected inconsistencies.

They don’t take everything personally. They can laugh at themselves and their foibles. They’re realistic enough to not feel unloved just because you made a mistake.

They’re respectful and reciprocal

They respect your boundaries. They’re looking for connection and closeness, not intrusion, control or enmeshment. They respect your individuality and that others have the final say on what their motivations are. They may tell you how they feel about what you did, but they don’t pretend to know you better than you know yourself.

They give back. They don’t like taking advantage of people, nor do they like the feeling of being used.

They are flexible and compromise well. Because collaborative, mature people don’t have an agenda to win at all costs, you won’t feel like you’re being taken advantage of. Compromise doesn’t mean mutual sacrifice; it means a mutual balancing of desires. They care about how you feel and don’t want to leave you feeling unsatisfied.

They’re even-tempered. They don’t sulk or pout for long periods of time or make you walk on eggshells. When angered, they will usually tell you what’s wrong and ask you to do things differently. They’re willing to take the initiative to bring conflict to a close.

They are willing to be influenced. They don’t feel threatened when other people see things differently, nor are they afraid of seeming weak if they don’t know something. They may not agree, but they’ll try to understand your point of view.

They’re truthful. They understand why you’re upset if they lie or give you a false impression.

They apologize and make amends. They want to be responsible for their own behavior and are willing to apologize when needed.

They’re responsive

Their empathy makes you feel safe. Along with self-awareness, empathy is the soul of emotional intelligence.

They make you feel seen and understood. Their behavior reflects their desire to really get to know you, rather than looking for you to mirror them. They aren’t afraid of your emotions and don’t tell you that you should be feeling some other way.

They like to comfort and be comforted. They are sympathetic and know how crucial friendly support can be.

They reflect on their actions and try to change. They clearly understand how people affect each other emotionally. They take you seriously if you tell them about a behavior of theirs that makes you uncomfortable. They’ll remain aware of the issue and demonstrate follow-through in their attempts to change.

They can laugh and be playful. Laughter is a form of egalitarian play between people and reflects an ability to relinquish control and follow someone else’s lead.

They’re enjoyable to be around. They aren’t always happy, but for the most part they seem able to generate their own good feelings and enjoy life.

#adult children of emotionally immature parents #quote

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jeonstellate · 2 days ago

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the ghost of monza

there’s a phantom walking around the monza circuit — and oscar seems to be the only one who can see her.

๑彡 oscar piastri x fem!räikkönen!reader

๑彡 mentions of ghosts & ghostly behaviors

๑彡 paragraph format — 3K words

masterlist

[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 all italian, spanish, & finnish words in this are from google! yn is kimi räikkönen’s daughter, but there are no physical descriptions mentioned.

๑彡 been into f1 recently && figured i should try writing something about it to help with my writer’s block. lowkey this might be my first & only f1 fic, but who knows. i appreciate any feedback as long as y’all word it nicely <3

It started on Oscar’s year as Alpine’s reserve driver.

It was a race weekend in Monza, Italy. The weather was great — the sun shone softly behind the clouds, the occasional wind blew like a hug, and there was a low threat of precipitation. It was really the ideal conditions for a Grand Prix for everyone involved.

There was no need for Oscar to fill in for any of the drivers and, thus, he was as relax as he could be.

He was just chilling inside the team’s motorhome, enjoying the relative silence of the hustle and bustle from the sidelines, when the glass door to his right opened from an effortless push of the figure outside. No one bothered to look — nor seemed to have noticed the door open — except for him.

To be fair, he wouldn’t’ve cared, either, had the figure not stood out like a sore thumb being the only red amidst the sea of blue. And if they didn’t look slightly passive — visibly judging, if he squinted hard enough — after sweeping the entire room with just their eyes. It was as if they found the entire Alpine motorhome lacking — or, worse, not worth their time.

Against his better judgment, and with every bit of an unknown force compelling him so, Oscar approached them. "Do you need help?"

He only had time to register the red cap on their head and the RKN boldly printed on the front of their equally red shirt before the person replied with a question of their own. "Is Alonso here?"

Oscar didn’t expect that inquiry at all. Purely based on the amount of red that covered their body, he assumed they were a tifoso who just lost their way to the Ferrari area. Yet, as it turned out, they came in there on purpose.

He weighed the ethicality of divulging a driver’s whereabouts. "He went back out. I’m not sure when he’ll be back."

The stranger nodded once, looking content with the answer he gave despite the vagueness. "Okay. Thank you."

With that, they turned back to the door and out to where they came from. They didn’t even look back to spare him — nor the motorhome — another glance.

It took Oscar two beats of silence to remember what Fernando had announced before the latter completely disappeared from the Alpine area. "If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’m with Seb!"

It took him another beat to run after the stranger. Unfortunately, that three-second delay was enough for them to be out of sight in all the directions he looked.

He went back inside wondering if he merely hallucinated the entire interaction.

It continued onto Oscar’s rookie year in Formula One.

It was another race weekend in Monza, Italy. It was a more guaranteed dry bout than last year, though, with the sun shining a little brighter and no chance of precipitation.

That time around, he was no longer as relaxed, for he was now one of the twenty drivers who would try to take pole to increase their chances of winning the Grand Prix. Add the fact that he still had something to prove with his seat in McLaren— there was really no time for him to completely relax at all.

He did have time to disassociate, though, and let his thoughts wander — albeit they couldn’t stray too far from the race, no matter how many times he tried.

He saw the door to his right open in his peripheral vision. He thought nothing of it, as a lot of people kept coming in and out of the McLaren motorhome for one reason or another.

Except the latest newcomer wasn’t clad in papaya and black — or any other neutral and ‘safe’ colors. They were red. And not just any red, either, but a distinct variation of Ferrari red. They had to be tifoso, for sure.

"Excuse me?" Before he knew it, the tifoso in question was in front of him. They weren’t invading his personal bubble, though, much to his silent gratitude. "Hi."

Oscar reciprocated their greeting after his brain registered that the stranger looked vaguely familiar. "Can I help you?"

"Has Alonso dropped by here today?"

It clicked then where he had seen them previously. They were the same person that inquired the same thing to him last year, back when he was still in Alpine. They were even wearing the same RKN shirt, albeit the red cap had been swapped for a black one.

"No," he shook his head. He considered asking why they were looking for Fernando, but the stranger closed the conversation before he could even make up his mind.

"I see," they say with a nod, reminiscent of their first encounter. As before, they were content with his short and direct answer. "Thank you."

And, like the year previous, they turned back out to the street without sparing him another glance.

Oscar trailed his eyes on their retreating figure, but he didn’t see them go toward any direction after the door closed. Instead, the glass wall merely remained a barrier between the inside of the motorhome and the empty, lifeless street.

It had to be a trick of light.

In hindsight, Oscar was partly to blame for his latest dilemma.

He didn’t have to bring up the vanishing tifoso to Fernando during the drivers’ parade. He didn’t have to assume it’d be a simple, open-and-shut conversation, either. And, yet—

In his defense, it seemed to be the perfect chance to.

He just didn’t anticipate Fernando to look at him like he asked his question in a language he didn’t understand. "No tifoso came to me."

He decided to drop the topic after that. He wasn’t sure if he should clarify or ask for a confirmation. And, quite frankly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do either — especially considering how the tifoso in question vanished the way they did.

Perhaps it was better that he never got to ask again. That way, he had nothing that resembled a confirmation of a recurring hallucination.

He was fortunate enough to be gifted in compartmentalizing, so his performance wasn’t affected. He might’ve not performed as well as he hoped, but they were blameless on that. That was all him and the car.

Unfortunately, with the race done, he really had nothing else to occupy his mind.

Which meant, in the stillness and silence of his hotel room, the compartment he stored his biggest what-if opened with a bang!

What if he was being haunted by a ghost of Monza circuit?

(That didn’t even make sense. Monza was Ferrari’s territory. And the last time he checked, he didn’t drive for the prancing horse. If anything, a ghost of Monza circuit should be haunting either Charles or Carlos — not him.)

It was a blessing — and a curse — that Formula One kept Oscar occupied enough to effectively keep the ghost of Monza circuit out of his mind.

Because, by Oscar’s second year in Formula One, he had forgotten about his recurring supernatural encounter.

. . . Until the season calendar circled back to Monza, Italy, that was.

"You look like hell, mate." Lando greeted him when they met at the McLaren garage for free practice. "You alright?"

"Yeah," the lie slipped out easily. Coming to work with barely any sleep was normal for him, so he learned long ago how to function with it. It was just rather unfortunate that he was yet to master not looking like he crawled out of hell whenever he didn’t get enough hours. "Just tired."

Although ‘just tired’ wasn’t technically a lie, it still was to an extent. After all, his sleeplessness wasn’t simply caused by jet-lag or anything mundane. Rather, by something he couldn’t exactly explain.

Screw his brain for remembering about the ghost of Monza circuit just when he was about to pass out.

"Oh, yeah," his teammate agreed. None than wiser about his current dilemma. "Immigration ran long last night."

Oscar could only hum in agreement. He wouldn’t be lying anymore if he didn’t respond verbally.

Unfortunately, a part of him didn’t want to leave it at that. "Say, do you believe in ghosts?"

"Why?" Lando’s response might’ve lacked a direct answer, but his body language told him everything he needed to know. "Is there a ghost in your hotel room—"

"No, nothing like that," he interrupted before his teammate thought the worse. It was bad enough that his mind was plagued by such things. He didn’t need Lando to be distracted by it, too, for the sake of their team. "Hattie just got me thinking about it."

There was immense relief when his teammate didn’t question the lie that escaped him so nonchalantly.

He just hoped his sister never gets a wind of him using her as an excuse — or else he’d never hear the end of it.

It would’ve been so easy to ask other drivers, any team members, or pit crew if they’ve seen someone with a RKN shirt around the circuit.

It would’ve been so nice to hear at least person affirm in some way, none the wiser about the magnitude of relief they just bestowed him.

It would’ve been so liberating to be free of the torment of not knowing for certain.

It would’ve been so many things.

But, alas, going around and asking would take a lot of energy. He might have the energy to race and do his job, but he had nothing to spare for satisfying his curiosity. He could do either-or, not both. And he definitely wouldn’t pick the latter if he actually had to choose.

Thus, Oscar settled for the unknown to plague his subconscious. Not in the forefront of his mind whenever occupied with pressing matters, but definitely still triggerable with a word or two.

It should’ve been obvious by now that him sitting idle inside his team’s motorhome was a common factor in all his — quite plausibly — ghostly encounters.

But, alas, the realization merely came when he was, one again, living through an unfaithful replay.

"He’s not here," Oscar replied to another variation of the one question the tifoso always asked.

And like they always did, they accepted his answer as it was. No follow-up questions asked. "Okay."

Only that time, he wasn’t about to just let them leave and disappear again. "I might know where he is right now, though," he quickly added before they express their gratitude and turn away. "I can take you to him?"

The unnamed tifoso thinned their lips as they considered his offer. He took that time to take note of two things: One, they donned a red cap with a ‘7’ embroidered on it and their usually red RKN shirt had been swapped for a white one. Two, the sunlight from the glass wall wasn’t shining through them but on them.

They were not a ghost.

It really had been a mere trick of light.

"I suppose that’s fine."

Oscar’s relief almost manifested into a small smile. He’d be able to sleep comfortably later! "Great. If you’d follow me—"

He opened the door and gestured for them to exit first. They obliged with a subtle nod of acknowledgement, and their — theirs and his — arms touched accidentally. He paid no mind to the electricity that flowed through his skin where they made contact, too focused on counting the brief moment as another proof that the stranger wasn’t anything supernatural.

He led them to the Aston Martin garage, the tifoso following him soundlessly from behind. He made few attempts to walk next to them instead, but they countered with a move of their own every time — which successfully kept them directly behind him. He got the message after the third failed attempt.

He felt like Orpheus on his way out of the Underworld.

"Do you mind if I ask for your name?" He inquired a little louder than his usual talking voice. He wasn’t one for raising his voice unless necessary — and that moment definitely required it. For he had to keep his head facing forward, so he could safely navigate the both of them across the chaos of the paddock.

Amongst the scattered noise all around, he was able to pick out a sound of a reply, "My name’s [first name]."

[First name].

It might’ve taken three years but, finally, he had a name.

Oscar quietly tested their name on his tongue — making sure he was pronouncing it right, before saying it out loud. "Nice to officially meet you, [first name]. I’m Oscar."

He could almost swear he heard them something else in reply, but it was drowned by the noise around them. All he could attest to was a reminiscent of a hum and something that almost sounded like a "Likewise."

In all the overthinking he had done, Oscar had somehow never anticipated how the truth would actually come to be.

Fernando, the first person he hinted about the phantom tifoso, did know [first name]. "Princesa! It’s so good to see you!" Personally, based on the tight hug he engulfed her after that enthusiastic greeting.

"You, too, Nando setä," [first name] greeted back, albeit with less excitement visible in her body language.

Oscar stood there rather awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself. Was he supposed to go now?

"Wait—" The older man suddenly held [first name] at arms’ length. He looked at her up and down, seemingly taking in her outfit. "Are you the tifoso Oscar was talking about?"

"What?"

Fernando turned to him, as if he realized it was a question for him instead of hers. "Is [first name] the tifoso?"

"Yeah," he affirmed. He turned to her, puzzled, "Are you not a tifoso?"

"Only conditionally," she responded with a light shrug. "I don’t typically consider myself one."

"Your outfit says otherwise, princesa." the Aston Martin driver gestured toward the prancing horse on her cap. He nodded in agreement, as the other encapsulated precisely what he was thinking.

[First name] was unfazed. "I just see them as faija’s merch."

Oscar had no idea what ‘faija’ meant but, based on context clues, he’d assume it meant ‘dad.’ Also based on context clues, ‘setä’ probably meant ‘uncle.’ It could also be the other way around, really. Alas, he’d have to confirm later.

"Your papá doesn’t even race anymore—" Or not, since Fernando seemed to have given him the confirmation indirectly— "why do you still insist to wear his merch when you watch me race?"

"I just want to."

He felt an inclination to ask who her father is. Yet, at the same time, he also felt like it was already at the tip of his tongue.

[First name] and her Uncle Fernando watched Oscar leave to return to the McLaren motorhome.

When the Australian driver was nothing but a speck in the sea of paddock chaos, her uncle wasted no time to open the conversation he was most likely dying to have. He probably would’ve kicked Oscar out of the Aston Martin garage, too, if the latter didn’t excuse himself early enough. "Finally got the balls to exchange more than a sentence with him, huh?"

She didn’t move her attention from the direction Oscar disappeared to. "On the contrary, I just didn’t want to refuse his offer."

Her first encounter with Oscar in Alpine had been by chance. She really was looking for her Uncle Fernando then. Her Uncle Sebastian wasn’t in his team’s motorhome down the lane when she dropped by, so she strategically sought out her other uncle. She figured they were likely chitchatting in some corner, as they often did with her dad back when the latter was still in the grid. It was only a matter of narrowing down where they could possibly be.

She didn’t know what it was with the team member that assisted her in Alpine. He just stood out to her much more than the one in Aston Martin. Perhaps it was because he didn’t make her wait for nothing. Or because he was more direct in replying to her query. Maybe it was because he was obviously around her age.

Whatever the case might be, she wasted no time in asking her uncles about the cute boy in Alpine after she sprinted to the garages. It was obvious her uncles immediately caught on what was happening before she even realized it herself. After all, she was a Räikkönen and very much like her father. She wouldn’t use much of her energy if she could help it. At best, she would only willingly use her energy for things that she cared enough about.

The fact that she sprinted just to get a name . . .

(It only took them a wordless glance at each other to unanimously conclude that she got a crush. A firsthand experience in love at first sight, if they wanted to push it.)

"Ay, princesa." Her Uncle Fernando’s disappointment was already distinguishable in just two words. "You backed out again?"

She couldn’t blame him. She planned to be acquainted with Oscar last year but she lost courage at the last second, so she tried again when the calendar restarted. Unfortunately, the same thing occurred. "It’s hard."

"You’re only asking him to be your friend, not for his hand in marriage."

[First name] scoffed at his chosen phrasing of his words of encouragement. She knew he was right, of course, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her agreement. "Maybe I should’ve just listened to faija and stayed away from the paddock."

It was his turn to scoff. "Too late for that. Your papá already approves of Oscar."

Her head snapped toward him in a concerning speed. "What?"

Fernando met her wide eyes with his own sparkling in excitement, as if he had been waiting for that moment for years. "I’ve been sending updates to him and Seb."

#oscar piastri x reader #op81 x reader #f1 x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #op81 fanfic #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #op81 imagine #f1 imagine #oscar piastri fic #op81 fic #f1 fic #oscar piastri #op81 #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren formula one #f1 #formula 1 #formula one

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janecafe · 2 days ago

Text

future spouse's pac: reasons why they choose to love you every time

uno - dos - tres

paid readings available here

masterlist

©janecafe 2025

˚⊱🍀⊰˚

₊˚ʚ 𝐔𝐍𝐎 🪅 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

i just wanna be more authentic here. your person is a class that doesn't believe in love, they think it's just human fabricated and imagination well perhaps this may be because they have not yet experienced the feeling of "love". their beliefs and practices affecting their perspectives of what love really looks like. i think they're insecure about themselves have a gloomy heart about the topic of affection. so the time they infatuated with you, they will experience many first times. the reason why this person to love you is that you were the first person to show care for them, it's like a natural characteristics of you.

i think you will work with them, in a project. it will take months for this person to grow feelings and as the time you're gonna know about their feelings, it's also gonna take more time for you to mirror these emotions with them. this seems like a slow burn yet a very assured love. when i say it was their first time to in love, i speak about--a real love, the feeling is different and because they love you because of you.

the second thing is that you're not afraid to show yourself well despite the hesitation and nervousness you feel inside most of the time. you have this mindset where; "who's gonna do this? i have no one to rely on but myself needs me more". it's this positive aspect is energizing you to do the task. i heard you might be insecure and have a public speaking but this bright side of your profile always gets you to wake up in reality. although your voice comes out in a full you can feel and hear your heart banging loudly inside when interacting with strangers. i feel that you have a high frequency, you may frequently noticed people at the public, staring at you without any reason. sometimes you felt awkward and embarrassed.

another thing to add to the list is that, despite that you are someone who is quiet and gentle. you have a great humor, i think people who are close to you like your jokes but most of the time these gags are overlay from you telling the truth. its like you are saying what's real behind those. well, this person will love your humour too. you are making them laugh even with their bad days, it makes their cheeks hurt. most of time, people don't understand the two of you because you two are the ones who master of each other's understanding. they love how you try your best understand them in every way possible without judgement this is how they fall deeper to you to the point they are willing to protect you to those people who would try to harm you physically or emotionally.

₊˚ʚ 𝐃𝐎𝐒 🪅 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

ohh, la la la. they be willing to be stripped and get cold for you. love makes them crazy, i think they have a circle where most of their friends are in love in such a way they tell themselves that, "love makes you an idiot and crazy bet i'll never be like that" not until you come and knock the hell out of them. their perception on love turned around like 360° is indeed make them insane. they feel you are so rare that's why they have a strong feelings for you. even in afterlife, they be willing to chase and make love with you haha. this reading becoming out of the topic, well the thing that makes them choose to love you is that, you give them an unquestionable loyalty.

you show them the best version of themselves which they didn't know before because all this time they think they already reach that--- that they reach the top of themselves. your presence makes a huge difference to them. it's not a big deal, it's neither your fault for them to change but it was their decision. they embrace and love it. another thing is that you are a home and a light, it's like a feeling of waking up that sunlight hitting your face. they love it when you give the best comfort especially when they really need one.

i think they will pursue you in such a very long way and with the time you are gonna them love too. they'll be like; "finally, my happiness choose me". from their expectations and imagine they already love the life that you two were building.

you are their muse of art. the root of their inspiration. the star in the darkest days. they can metaphor you with everything, make you poems with so fondness of words. they're lucky that they are able to love and see you in this lifetime. and the day they will meet you, is the day they will share their wind-gentle love story.

₊˚ʚ 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒 🪅 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

the first thing i heard is that--- you make them marveled in love. they love how you send cute messages whenever they're at work. they think you are the most unexpected thing that happens in their life, they didn't expect you to come and boom their world. you shake things up i swear. they feel that they're bad person and nobody will ever love, they feel that they don't deserve you and their love. but you make them realize that love can make change. love makes you better. they love how patience you are with them and they are so forever grateful for that.

i think you give your best to match their energy and they really do appreciate your efforts. this slaps them that you are the one that they are with for the rest of their lives. they want to love you much better than you do to them.

they also love your kisses and hugs. it makes their knees weak. and trust me, they'll try their best to match and give you the best communication. your encouragement and care was the ones they choose to love you every day.

another thing, they appreciate and have a soft spot for you when they take care of them when they are sick. when you make them food even though they don't usually ask for it. although most of the time you make something stupid they realize that you are the person they want for the rest of their life. i considered that their love for you was better and stronger than others.

˚⊱🍀⊰˚

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highdramas · 5 hours ago

Note

in terms of your recent post, maybe abbot x professional athlete! reader — (volleyball/gymnastics/swim/soccer etc.) she comes in for a devastating ACL tear or something of the like and he’s the one who treats her? maybe jack recognizes her because robby & him would catch your teams games every now and he’s caught off guard seeing you up close, and afterwards reader stops by a couple days later to drop by some tickets to the next match and perhaps her phone number…

spinning out | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!figure skater!reader warnings: language, angst with a happy ending, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), almost certain medical inaccuracies because i have no idea what i'm talking about but i researched and did my best <3 word count: 3.4k summary: you are pittsburgh's sweetheart, the ice princess, the hometown hero. when you come into the emergency room on the worst day of your life, jack is the one who meets his match. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. i once again took some liberties with this request, but i hope that you enjoy it! i decided to make reader a figure skater! one of my many favorite fixations! not proofread so apologies for errors <3

the screaming that comes from chairs is enough to get the attention of any tuned-in physician or nurse. but it especially gets jack’s attention– because it’s not just screams that indicate pain, or fear. there’s just… general commotion. and that can be a lot more dangerous than anything else.

everyone in the chairs is on their feet– if they can be. jack and dana barrel out, trying to parse out what exactly it is that’s happening. but the second that he lays his eyes on you, he knows why.

you’re the face known all around pittsburgh. your face is on many billboards, definitely in the newspaper, and regularly on the local news. and it’s been this way since jack moved to pittsburgh, back in 2015. at the time, he remembers you looking so fresh faced– only twenty, and you were on track to be one of the best figure skaters in the world. call it morbid curiosity, but jack had kept up with your career, loosely, in the way that most people who lived in pittsburgh is. that's what he told himself, anyway.

“alright, alright, everyone sit the fuck down and stop crowding around her,” jack calls, approaching you and the gaggle of people who surround you. you still wear a dazzling outfit, catching every single light and refracting it back out. your feet are socked but there are no skates to be found, and two people on either side of you helping hold you up right-- barely. you look abysmal, when you finally make eye contact with him– mascara trails down your cheeks, hairs are out of place, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen an expression so… hardened. “come on, we’ll help you. dana– get a wheelchair.”

jack helps the people he learns are your coaches transfer you to the wheelchair. you still haven’t uttered a word– you just look down at your hands, pick the skin around your cuticles. “we think it’s an acl tear,” your coach says to jack. “happened during a competition. a smaller one, thankfully. we don’t need that kind of scrutiny.” this makes jack’s face screw up slightly, but he continues to listen. “we just– we’ve gotta have her back on the ice next week.”

“dana, go ahead and wheel her back to south-9, i’ll be right in.” jack turns his attention to your coach. a stark woman, small eyes, full lips, very obviously tanned. “alright,” he claps his hands together. “you all are going to have to stay out here. we’re very packed in the er, so i can’t have you back. we’ll come out and grab you when we have an update. okay?”

he can tell that this doesn’t please her, but he doesn’t really care. because while she’s bemoaning the possibility of more people bearing witness to what is likely one of the worst moments of your life– not for your sake, but for the sake of image… jack knows himself. he won’t be able to work effectively with that type of squawking in his ear.

when he goes to central, he points at dana. “don’t let coach and company in. feel me?”

“i feel you, boss,” she says without looking up from her computer. “donnie’s in there right now, but she’s ready for you.” she looks up at jack, plucking her readers off. “never a dull moment, huh? we got celebrities now!”

he tries to find it amusing, but then he remembers the look on your face, and he can’t find the humor within the situation. he simply squeezes dana’s shoulder, turns around, and takes a deep breath before he enters south-9.

–

the door opens. click shuts. you hardly hear it– all you hear is the blood in your ears. all you feel is the throbbing in your knee. all you know is that it’s over.

you took pride in what you do. you love ice skating– as an art form, as a way that you have honed your body over many, many years. you’re proud of all of the regional, national, world competitions you’ve won– you’re proud of all of that. and really, you only wanted one more thing. you knew it was a stretch, you knew it was a strain on your body, you knew, at 30, some think you’re too old for your sport… but it didn’t matter.

you just wanted to win gold. once in your life.

you’ve had silver, and bronze, you’ve gotten close to gold the last two olympics– neck and neck with your competitor, who ultimately, worked harder. was better than you. that’s what you tell yourself. that’s what your coaches have told you, to push you. your family doesn’t say it, but you feel it radiating off of them.

you don’t need the doctor to tell you that it’s over. you felt it the second that you landed wrong and crumpled to the ice, a glittering pile of dreams that will never be realized. you cried, not from the pain– you know pain intimately, have walked side by side with pain your entire life. you cried because it was all for nothing.

“hi. i’m dr. abbot.”

you don’t respond.

he sits in one of those spinny stools that all doctors use. you finally glance at him. “you don’t have to say it,” you wipe at your cheeks. “6-8 weeks until i can get back on the ice after an ACL tear. this isn’t my first tear, so i’ll likely need grafting surgery. so who knows how much further that would set me back.”

“wow. you want my job?” he tries to crack the tension but it’s no use. not really.

you’re approaching catatonic.

but it’s like a nail pops a balloon, and suddenly, all that you are is a heaving, sobbing mess.

the doctor– dr. abbot– sits with you. at one point, he offers you a tissue. then, the trash bin to throw it. and then, his hand.

you don’t think twice before you take it. you take it and you squeeze and you use it to tether yourself because everything feels like it’s floating away from you– a career, a dream, a desire.

but other things, too.

pain. being talked down upon. only being useful for one thing.

he doesn’t leave. he doesn’t even move a muscle. others try to come in and swap out and at one point you swear he says, “shen, fuck off, i’m busy.”

you don’t know how long you cry. you’re exhausted after. and itchy, because this stupid outfit clings in every spot that hurts and it feels like a humiliation ritual more than anything else, at this point.

“can i–” your throat is scratchy, and jack hands you a water bottle. you chug at it, greedy. “can i get a gown? and–” you look around, as if scared that they might be there behind you. “tell my coaches to fuck off and go home?”

a small smile creeps onto jack’s features. “yes, i can do that.” he hesitates before he stands up. “we’re gonna get you all checked out. see what we can do for you, and what orthopedic surgery is going to need to do. and we’ll be able to determine how long until you can skate again. alright?”

you nod your head. he finds your eyes. “we got you. alright?” tears are still brimming, hanging off your eyelashes like the saddest dew drops known to man.

–

it doesn’t look good. your assessment of your injury was largely accurate, jack found, when he began his examination of your knee with a delicate touch– being as intune with your body as you are, jack isn’t surprised. he comes back with x-rays and brings in ellis to observe. “you’re smart, i’ll give you that,” he says as he enters the room, and he’s proud of himself when you smile. you’re changed, and he thinks that someone must have given you a makeup wipe, because your face is fresh and beautiful and he has to clear his throat before he continues with his diagnosis and what he’d recommend for treatment.

“you’re looking at, maybe 16 weeks before you can get back out. and that’s entirely dependent on how you heal after the surgery. and even if you do start skating, you’re going to need to take it slow.” he finds your eyes. this is the kind of news that he hates delivering, and he thinks if he has to do it, he can at least look someone in the eye while doing it. they’re beautiful– and they have a depth to them that he doesn’t find in most. you’re not scared off by his eye contact. you maintain it with little effort. “i’m sorry.”

the chuckle that you let out causes a shiver to run down his spine. it’s so humorless, that it creates a chasm inside of him that wants nothing more than to make it better. “yeah, of course it is.” you lean your head back. “the press will be here soon.”

jack and ellis share a glance. “your team is talking to them outside, we believe,” ellis says with a wince.

you smirk. “ah. of course.” you look back to abbot. “thank you for your help. i’m sorry i’m wretched. just…” you shrug. “what a shitty fucking day.”

“yeah, i don’t doubt it.” he chews on his lip. “can we arrange to have someone else pick you up once you’re cleared?”

“there’s no one else,” you say seamlessly. “i’ll call an uber.”

it’s odd, he thinks to himself. seeing you up close and personal, real. he would’ve thought you were entirely delicate, a beautiful flower kept in a box, plucked out, and put onto the ice to entrance everyone who watches you. but you’re so human and alive and he can sense this way that you’ve been treated, and when you say there’s no one else except these people who look at you as a product, a brand, a liability… something snaps.

“we’ll arrange to have someone take you home. it’s a risk to have you take any sort of public transportation where someone can’t assist you into your home.”

you look between the two physicians. your eyes land on jack and he thinks that you might fight it– but then, you concede, and give a meek nod of your head, and he feels that tightening in his chest that he keeps experiencing. he wants to wrap you up and hide you away– far away from those people taking advantage of you.

he’s just starstruck. that's what he decides to chalk it up to.

–

dr. jack abbot does ensure you’re driven home by someone. he is very professional, and polite, as he instructs you on when to return to the hospital for a pre-op appointment, and how to manage your pain in the meantime.

eventually, you do have surgery. eventually, you’re back in PTMC, and your eyes trail on the emergency department as you go past it, wondering if you might be able to sneak a glimpse of him.

you fire your coaches. you tell your team to fuck off. your publicist can hardly get ahold of you, and, naturally, everyone wants a statement. it makes you laugh to think about it. yeah, you’d like a statement too, you think. bitter. always so bitter in those first weeks after.

once you start recovering from surgery, the bitterness dissipates, but you certainly don’t sweeten to what has happened to you. you watch with bloodshot eyes, the footage of it happening. you’re rapt with it, and it’s a little sadistic, you think to yourself– but you can see the exact moment of the tear. the exact moment everything shifts.

that night, you write find a therapist down on a to-do list.

your first session, as you recount the story to her, you get hung up on the portion in the emergency room. you explain it in great detail, and when it gets to your doctor… “i broke,” you admit with a shrug. “i broke in the emergency room. and the doctor, he stayed. you know– sonja, and marci, they were both out there. yes, he asked them to stay back, but it was because even the doctor could see it. that they didn’t care about me. they didn’t care if i was okay. they cared that i wasn’t functional anymore.” you stop yourself. steel yourself. “but he stayed with me. he held my hand when he cried. and i can’t…” you look down at your hands, pick at already raw cuticles. “i couldn’t remember the last time someone was so nice to me, just for the sake of being nice.”

your therapist suggests you go back, and thank dr. abbot. you think this is a good idea, but you’ve spent so much time being an ice skater, you don’t know if you really know how to be a human being anymore. how do you talk about anything that’s not a diet, choreography plans, workout regimine, or regional scores? do you know how to be earnest, and real, and honest?

you hobble towards the emergency room, the brace you wear restricting your mobility, but you’d finally gotten off the crutches, thank god. you hold a box of cookies that you had baked yourself– with all this newfound free time, and with the fact that you could actually eat, freely, in a way that was almost certainly healthier than whatever restrictive nonsense you were doing before, you’d picked up baking as a hobby. you weren’t great. but you weren’t horrible, either.

it felt so good to just be mediocre at something. to not care. to just enjoy it for the sake of enjoying it.

you approach the registration desk. she– lupe, her nametag says– recognizes you instantly, you can tell. you say hello, and introduce yourself by name anyway. “um– dr. abbot treated me here, about five weeks ago. i was wanting to say…” you attempt to slow you breathing, your nervousness. “i was wanting to see if i could say thank you.”

lupe gives you a warm smile. “oh, that’s sweet, honey. we all heard about what happened– i am so sorry.” your lips press into a line. the sentiment is kind– but it strikes you, anyway. “let me go see what i can do.”

–

it’s never good when lupe is coming back.

jack snatches the sterile gown, soaked in blood from a woman that he was unable to save, and shoves it into the proper disposal. he rubs sanitizer into his hands and he eyes lupe, trying to muster up a smile. “can i hold onto hope and a prayer that you’re about to tell me something good, and not bad?”

“yes, actually. for once, right?” lupe laughs and she begins to explain to him that you’re outside. when she says that, jack’s eyes go wide. “she wants to thank you. can i bring her to the family room?”

“uh– yeah. yes, please do.”

you go to central to finish up on a chart when robby approaches jack at his side. “i hear ice princess is back,” he says with a small smile, crossing his arms over his chest.

somehow, a rumor got around that you had cried in jack’s arms in south-9. that he had cradled you and held you and stroked your hair– he’s fairly certain it was princess and perlah. no, he knows it was princess and perlah. all good ER rumors start and end with him.

“don’t call her that,” jack says without looking up from the screen. “not cool.”

“oh, my apologies.” robby’s eyes trail to the family room, where you’re limping in. “she’s walking on that knee.”

jack snorts. “that’s the least surprising thing i’ve ever heard.” after an interaction with you that barely went over an hour, he felt like he understood you. he understood that, of course you were walking. you were determined, and you were used to your body bending to your will– not the other way around. he looks over at the family room as the door shuts with a faint thwick.

“go get ‘em, tiger,” robby says and it makes jack scowl.

he’s a good, professional physician. he doesn’t have crushes on patients.

he opens the door. and you’re sitting there, beautiful, clear eyed– there’s still a storm cloud or two burrowed within you, he knows, but not the same as when he met you the first time.

you go to stand up, but he instantly shakes his head. “oh– no. in fact…” he looks at the couch and grabs a pillow. “elevate.”

you look at him incredulously. “my surgeon said i only needed to elevate for 3-7 days post-op.”

“it’s always good to elevate when resting. especially since you’re walking on it.”

you roll your eyes. “the crutches slowed me down,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“that’s kinda the point, sweetheart.”

–

sweetheart.

your lips curl into a smile and you raise your eyebrows at him. he looks at you like he would like to crawl under this couch, and die, probably. he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “i don’t know why i said that.”

“i do,” your smile is saccharine. “because i’m a sweetheart. obviously.”

“they called you pittsburgh’s sweetheart in the paper, once.”

“oh– so you knew who i was?”

“you can’t go anywhere in this city without seeing your face!” you’ve gotten him exasperated now, riled up, and you’re thoroughly happy with yourself. this is the most fun you’ve had in you don’t even know how long, to be perfectly honest. you’ve begun to recline on the arm of the small loveseat, and jack maneuvers the pillow beneath your knee. his hands are confident, his words are not. it’s a combination that you think you could watch all day.

he takes a seat across from you, once he’s gotten you settled to his liking. and there’s that stare, again– people always said that you had a staring problem, but they must not have met jack abbot before. that man had a staring problem.

you take it almost as a challenge. you maintain the eye contact and slowly slide the box of cookies to him.

he glances down. “what’s this?”

“cookies. i made them.” you run your tongue over your teeth. “to say thank you.”

he hangs his head. looks up just enough to peer at you through eyelashes– long, pretty eyelashes. “you don’t need to thank me. i just–”

“oh, no. i do.” you clear your throat. think over the little script that you had written in your journal, all of the vulnerable and real things that you wanted to say. “i don’t know what i needed, exactly, in that moment. and in don’t know if it would be possible for one person to be exactly what i needed. it was–” you feel that swell of emotion start to rise like a tide in your abdomen, but you push through. “it was the single worst night of my life. but not because of the injury. because i just… i realized how sad my life is. i don’t have friends. my family situation is dysfunctional in a way that is not healthy. my coaches and team and everyone around me just looked at me like a thing. an item. and you looked at me and cared for me like a human being. so.” you have to clear your throat again. “thank you.”

jack’s eyes didn’t leave you, one single time. and he only looks away not to close them, rub at them. when he opens them, they’re misty, and he chuckles. “fuck,” he drags the word out, and you feel it run through the center of you. you move to stand up but he stops you. “you are a human being,” he blurts out. “and fuck anyone who has ever treated you like anything else, or less– fuck. them. seriously.”

“yeah, i fired my team.”

“good.”

“yeah.”

a comfortable quiet takes over and you go back and forth in your mind as you stand up, for real this time. “i know you’re working. and i know this is probably unprofessional, but…” you take a piece of paper from your coat pocket and you hand it to him. “when i get back on the ice, i’d like to do it for myself. but, you know, could be good to have a medical professional there to make sure i’m not fucking myself up even more, so…” you suck in a breath. “that’s my phone number.”

he opens the piece of paper and stares at the string of numbers. looks back to you. “i’ll be there.”

“great.”

you sling your purse across your body. “that won’t be for awhile, but…” you brush past him, towards the door. “you know, i can still go out to dinner with a torn acl.”

jack smiles, dimples out. holds the door for you. “sounds like we’ve got a date.”

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbott imagine #jack abbot #jack abbott #the pitt fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt #dr abbot x reader #my writing

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ethan-elliott · 2 days ago

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17,483 signatures as of 15th April

We may not currently be as bad as the States but things are definitely worsening.

As a trans person living in the UK, I thought I’d share my thoughts for anyone unsure about why this petition is important (though bear in mind I am not an expert on this, only offering how it feels to me):

First of all, why is this happening?

The UK government is gearing up for the next 10 year review of the NHS, our healthcare service, and in this it states that:

“patients should not have to share sleeping accommodation with others of the opposite sex and should have access to segregated bathroom and toilet facilities. Exceptions to this are mainly confined to patients who need highly specialised care, such as that delivered in critical care units, or where it is clearly in the patient’s best interest to receive rapid treatment and same-sex accommodation is not the immediate priority. We expect NHS trusts to comply with these measures, as well as wider expectations to deliver health services in accordance with the Equality Act 2010, having appropriate regard to protected characteristics as defined in the Act where relevant.”

So how does this affect trans people?

Being transgender is a protected characteristic under the Equality Act, and the NHS guidance on same-sex accommodation states that trans people should be housed according to their presentation and should be asked where they’d prefer to be housed if medical staff are unsure. Theoretically, it shouldn’t make a difference.

Except. It also states this approach “may be varied under special circumstances where, for instance, the treatment is sex-specific.”

Same-sex accommodation may not fall specifically under treatment, but it is sex-specific nonetheless and the problem is, as always, with the emphasis on biological sex. This was confirmed by a BBC article which explicitly stated trans men would not be housed in male-only spaces and trans women would not be housed in women-only spaces.

The problem with this is two-fold. Firstly, the blatant disregard of trans people’s identity in the name of “safe spaces” but also the usual disregard for cis people who want women-only or men-only spaces. If I went into hospital now, I would likely be housed in a women’s space because my presentation would likely be considered feminine. But it’s the same goddamn problem as the bathroom policing all over again. If a large, bearded, masculine trans man came into a women’s accommodation, that is very likely going to make some of the women uncomfortable. And the same goes for trans women in men’s spaces, with the additional safety risks it might pose for her.

And so the question is…what happens? Do you blindly assign people based purely on their biological sex? Or do you house trans people who present differently to their sex marker in separate rooms and thus isolate and alienate them from other patients? And what happens if you don’t have a single room available?

I do not trust “appropriate regard to protected characteristics” one bit. It’s too vague, for starters. And “gender reassignment” is just one characteristic protected under it — so is sex. So the argument could be made that discriminating against a trans person was done on the basis of protecting the rights of (cis) women/men - and we all know which is likely to win. The right-wing media may report that trans people are “eradicating women” but that’s not what’s really happening. And our government is only leaning more into right-wing attitudes not to mention the incredibly scary rise of the Reform party.

I mean, the fact that trans people are STILL being used as a fucking political debate and distraction tool says it all. They do not care about the rights of trans people and, in practice, this change opens the floodgates for refusal of healthcare for trans people.

What can we do to help?

If you’re a British Citizen or UK resident, SIGN THE PETITION. You can also write to your local MP about it, and if you need to find out who that is, it’ll give your local constituency and MP (based on your postcode) at the bottom of the page once you’ve signed.

If you’re not a citizen/resident: share the petition to anyone you know who can sign it. make noise about it on social media if you can. support the trans folks around you.

These are our rights. The rights of people like me and my friends, many of whom are trying to go into the research/healthcare sector - hell, I’m waiting to hear back from an NHS position as I type this. These are the rights of people you may see all the time and never realise — but once we’re gone, you’ll know. And yes, this is about trans people, but it’s not just about trans people. We are who they come for first. It might be your friends and family or it might be you next. This is the reality we’re living in.

Well fucks? Get to it!

#I don’t know if my explanation helps or makes sense but I had to get it out there #trans rights #trans rights are human rights #uk politics #lgbtq

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clownprincesshq · 13 hours ago

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Hey! I've been reading your works for a while and wanted to request something if that's alright.

Main! Mark Grayson X Rocket Raccoon! Inspired Reader! Super smart, a little unhinged, some jokes or comments go over her head, and then sensitive - which is more so just because I am a very sensitive person and feel emotions really sttingly tbh.

I love what and how you write and how you've studied Mark's character, I've been thinking about writing something for him, any tips? <3

mark grayson x rocket raccoon!inspired reader headcanons + tips on writing mark (sfw + nsfw)

from the very first meeting, mark knows you’re different.

you’re mouthy. smart. wired a little too tight.

you patch a hole in his suit while insulting his fighting, and then when he thanks you, you just blink at him like he spoke another language.

"what? it’s basic engineering. you’re welcome, dumbass."

you don't always catch sarcasm. or jokes.

mark will make some dumb comment like, "guess i'm indestructible now, huh?"

and you’ll nod seriously and launch into a three-minute explanation about stress points in viltrumite anatomy.

he LOVES it. he teases you about it constantly but he loves the way your brain works.

you’re cocky in fights but weirdly shy about personal compliments.

he says you’re amazing and you short-circuit.

literally just fumble whatever’s in your hands and mumble

something like, "shut up before i bite you." (he grins. he grins so big.)

you mask your sensitivity with confidence.

call yourself "the baddest bitch on this planet"

but if mark slightly raises his voice at you, your ears flatten metaphorically and you feel bad for hours.

he catches on real quick.

when you're overwhelmed, he doesn’t push.

he gets quieter. brings you food. taps your shoulder lightly before touching you.

“hey. it’s okay. you’re okay.”

you invent things for him without him asking.

upgraded earpiece? check.

modified suit? check.

a taser glove just because you think it'd be funny, even though he doesn't need it? double check.

your love language is acts of service and aggressive protection.

if someone so much as looks at mark wrong, you’re already stepping in front of him like a furious tank.

"he asked for no pickles"

(he’s a viltrumite. he can punch planets. but still. he lets you.)

the first time he sees you cry, it wrecks him.

you try to hide it, making some stupid joke about "malfunctioning tear ducts."

he just pulls you into his arms, no questions, no teasing.

and you cling. hard. like you’re scared he’ll disappear.

(he won’t.)

he loves how chaotic you are.

the way you swear under your breath while fixing his gear.

the way you throw random science facts into conversations like grenades.

the way you forget basic social cues but remember every single thing he’s ever said about what he likes or wants.

you pretend you’re too cool for cuddling.

(you are not.)

he calls you out on it every time.

"you can come closer, you know. i don't bite."

"no, but i do."

(five minutes later you're in his lap, snoring into his hoodie.)

he thinks you're the best thing that ever happened to him.

you're smart and brave and weird and you care so much harder than you ever let people see.

and he sees it. all of it.

and he stays.

always.

TIPS FOR WRITING MARK!

SFW (his personality/emotional side)

• he's emotional but not weak willed mark feels everything super heavy, love, anger, guilt, all of it. but he doesn’t just curl up and cry about it. he gets hurt, yeah, but he keeps fighting. he’s built to take the hit and keep moving because he has to.

• acts on feelings without overthinking he doesn't sit around planning what to say. if he’s happy, he smiles and grabs you. if he’s scared, he says it. if he loves you, it comes out before he even realizes it. he’s messy and raw in a way that's actually honest.

• stubborn as hell mark will dig his heels in and argue with god himself if he thinks he’s right. even if it’s dumb. even if he’s dead wrong. you have to drag him by the collar sometimes to get him to listen.

• loyalty that hurts him he sticks with people even when they don’t deserve it. it’s not because he’s naive it’s because once he loves you, you’re in his heart and it’s damn near impossible for him to shut that off, even when it’s killing him.

• confident, but still figuring shit out he knows he’s strong. he knows he’s capable. but he’s still learning who he is, where his limits are, what he really wants. he fucks up and second guesses sometimes, but he doesn't quit.

• real as hell mark’s not trying to act cool, or hot, or mysterious. he’s just him. sweaty, loud, stubborn, tender. he doesn’t play at being something he’s not and that’s why people fall for him.

NSFW (the way he is in bed)

• not shy, not cocky just needy mark isn’t giggling or stammering if you touch him. he’s already reaching for you. he wants it and he’s not scared of showing it. half the time he’s hard just because you looked at him a certain way.

• messy, greedy, not ALWAYS gentle unless you need it he fucks like he’s starving. not sloppy like he doesn't know what he's doing hungry like he needs to feel you everywhere. he’s rough without meaning to be rough. he just wants you too much to pace himself.

• gives a shit about your pleasure mark’s not the "one and done" type. your moans get him off. if you’re not falling apart under him, he’s not done yet. fingers, mouth, hips whatever it takes. he's not just trying to get himself off, he wants both of you wrecked.

• physical as hell he’s grabbing your thighs, kissing you so hard your lips bruise, pressing you down into the bed like he can’t get close enough. half the time he doesn’t even realize how rough he’s being until you’re literally clawing at his back.

• emotional even when he’s fucking your brains out he doesn’t lose the tenderness. even when he’s fucking you hard enough to shake the bed, he’s holding your hand, burying his face in your neck, groaning your name and saying he loves you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

how fandom sometimes mischaracterizes mark vs how he actually is:

fandom: turns him into a shy, blushing virgin who can't handle basic flirting reality: mark is horny, direct, and wants physical closeness he doesn’t freeze up, he leans in fast. he's human.

he's awkward socially sometimes, yeah but when he’s with someone he wants? he’s bold. he touches, kisses, asks, takes. he’s not as scared of sex or intimacy as everyone thinks he is.

fandom: makes him cold and emotionally shut off to seem "cool" or for a plot point reality: mark is warm, intense, and sometimes too open with his feelings.

he says "i love you" too soon. he fights for people even when he shouldn't. he throws his heart into everything and deals with the fallout later. he’s not aloof he’s raw.

fandom: flattens him into perfect boyfriend energy with no real flaws reality: mark is sweet, stubborn, impulsive, emotional and a goddamn mess sometimes.

he loves like breathing, he fights like bleeding, he fucks like breaking apart. he’s not perfect. he’s real. that's what makes him hit harder than some made up ideal version.

🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺 everything about mark, the way he loves, the way he fights, the way he fucks, comes from the same place he feels too much and he can’t hide it. he’s not built to be quiet, careful, or perfect. he’s built to burn hot, crash hard, and pick himself back up bloody and stupid + try to do better next time because that’s who he is. if you’re writing him, let him be loud, raw, and real.

#invincible #invincible x reader #invincible fanfic #invincible season 3 #invincible angst #invincible x you #mark grayson x reader #invincible smut #reader insert #x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson smut #mark grayson

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